


Angel with a Shotgun

by sleepygirl0305



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Assassin AU, F/M, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Other, exr end up together slowly shhh just bear with me here, it's not graphic but they're there as a part of the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygirl0305/pseuds/sleepygirl0305
Summary: Cosette is an assassin contracted to kill Marius Pontmercy as a revenge action against the Les Amis for their revolutionary acts that’s turning the city of Paris against the government. But when she comes to get to know Marius and the Les Amis, she realizes more and more that their intentions are needed.And now, with two former assassins helping out, they must find a way to protect the group without exposing themselves, while trying to identify the government official who wants Marius dead.
Relationships: (latter being background), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! if you know me, you know i'm a major exr shipper, probably more than anything. however, i've always been fascinated with cosette's character, and wanted to write this with the intentions of exploring what i might think would be her multiple facets. (there are also exr elements in this, because i can't live without them, naturally.)
> 
> my depictions of the "assassin" industry might not be, er, the most accurate. any feedback helps, of course, but i do want to write it according to how i would like to enjoy it.
> 
> i'll be posting (hopefully) every week, so stay tuned every saturday EST for a new chapter!

Cosette blinked the sleep out of her eyes, raising her head to stare at the mirror. It was only dawn, and she had to stop herself from crawling back into her bed and crashing. She had not done this in a while.

After a minute of splashing her face with cold water, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a blouse, and a black jacket. She came back into the humdrum she was used to: of preparing for an assigned mission.

Once sunrise came, she left her tiny apartment and walked down the streets of Paris that slowly fell on a Monday morning. People were beginning to walk out of their homes to get to work, and Cosette joined them on the train and rode for three stops before stepping out.

After walking up the steps, she walked towards an inconspicuous building on the corner. It stood, black with tall windows. Classy, but very subtle. She stepped in, walked up a flight of stairs, and knocked on the door. A scratchy male voice responded.

“Password?”

“The white sliding door needs a new screw.”

It was a ridiculous password, and she knew it. The door opened.

“Ah, Cosette. Come in.”

She never knew this man’s name. It was mostly for protection on his behalf, since if any death was inflicted on him, most of their operations would fall apart. But he knew her. Oh yes, he’d known her since she was a girl, even before she took on this job. It was still strange, not knowing his name.

“How are you?’

“I am well, sir. I hope you are too. What can I do for you?”

The man, who Cosette called the Planner, sat down on a red plush armchair. If a stranger walked in, they would think they were in a private library, with how shelves of books lined the walls. She knew better, though. She knew where the filing cabinet was, where she could find file after file of past missions and their contractors and who did the job.

“A member of the local government is commissioning a job on a young man who is part of what they say is a revolutionary group. The group has led multiple protests and rallies against the city government’s policies, to such a point the contractors think they are a threat.” He slid a folder towards her, “Your target is named Marius Pontmercy.”

She opened the folder, and saw an attached picture of a most handsome man. Dark brown hair that stuck up in a wave, and a pair of deep hazel eyes, punctuated by freckles. He looked like someone he’d have a crush on, in college, maybe, if she had gone to college. Maybe in a life where she didn’t do illegal activities.

A written sentence caught her eye. In the written pen, it noted:  _ Member of the Les Amis.  _

“Just a member? Why not their leader?” She raised an eyebrow.

“The contractor does not want to touch the leader yet. He wants the leader in jail, as he does most of them. Marius is deemed someone who is important, but not important enough to be kept alive. His death is meant to be a warning for the group in the hopes they stop their activities.”

She nodded, “Okay. How do you want me to proceed?”

“I have a tip saying that they meet regularly on Thursday nights at a cafe across town called The Musain. They accept sit-ins, they are always open to getting newcomers. Get to know them for a couple of months, because the contractor is interested in obtaining information about their activity wherever possible. Get to know Marius, of course. But focus on their leaders. There are pictures of them on the second page.”

She leafed through, and looked at a photo of a fierce-looking blond man in red, a petite man with dark brown curls, and another taller man with glasses and short hair.

“Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre. They are the three most important leaders. Enjolras especially. He is provocative. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are more cooperative with police when they’ve been arrested, but don’t put anything past them. And then, when the contractor gives the signal, you’ll pull the hit. More instructions on that later.”

She met his eyes again, “Okay. What’s the pay?”

“Three hundred thousand euros.”

Her mouth dropped, “You’re joking.” 

“They need this job done badly, Cosette. They fear their time in power will be threatened if this is not put under control.”

The Planner frowned even further, “Promise me something. You will get this done, efficiently and as soon as possible.”

“Sir, you know me. I get my jobs done. I am good at what I do.” She said, a touch defensive.

“It’s not just that. I will not put it past them to target you if you don’t get the job done. They do not know what you look like or your name, but they have eyes everywhere. They’ll know. Not only are you one of my best on the team, you are also young and I want you to live a full life when you finish working here.”

The Planner rarely showed this much affection, and she took it as a kind gesture.

“Thank you. I’ll get started.”

+

Back in her room, Cosette studied her face in the long mirror in her bedroom. She knew why The Planner picked her, she had always been an obvious choice for more undercover assignments. 

Because from afar, she looks innocent. Hell, she acts innocent. She has a soft voice, and when she does smile, it’s bright. Her blonde hair fell in curls around her face, and her blue eyes were electric. She didn’t think of herself as vain, but after years now in the industry, and seeing the way her targets treated her (without suspicion and with a bit of flirtiness), she knew why she was fit for the job. She could probably get Pontmercy to fall for her, if he was into women.

And yet, beneath the surface. She is a force. She’d taken gymnastics for years, and she is lithe. She is a fast runner, and can wield a gun easily. That was her preferred method. Because she didn’t have the muscle to drown someone for long or do anything else that required more exertion.

The day is Tuesday. She has two days to research her subjects.

She brings out her laptop, a notebook, and writes at the top:  _ Marius Pontmercy. _

+

Hours later, she held a cup of tea in her hand and inhaled deep. Staring at her notebook, she recounted what she knew:

Marius. Age 25. Second year law student at the Sorbonne Law School. No Instagram account, to her knowledge. An old Facebook that links him to a sister, a mother, and a father. When she searched his name alongside the law school, she found articles he’d written for the law journal. She browsed the topics:

_ Immigration Law _

_ Civil Rights _

_ Child Law _

So, a man with a saint complex. Okay, she could handle that. She’s handled worse. Men with saint complexes only want validation on their morals, and only want shallow kindness. The best moment to aim a gun at them is when they’re working at their desks. 

More on Marius: his social media was scant, but he had a Twitter account that was slightly active. The last post was from two months ago, a picture of him at a shelter feeding a puppy:  _ Better than reading a case study, I would say.  _ The post before that: a photo with a curly-haired man:  _ Love my best friend!  _ She recognized him as Courfeyrac. 

She studied the other members of the Amis for another hour, before crafting her fake identity. Make it convincing, not one that would warrant a lot of searching. This was the part that was a little more challenging to her. More than once, the subject of a hit would be fascinated and interested in her, that they would try to find more about her. Try to search her on the internet. It almost foiled her. So she needed a name that was common enough, an easy excuse to not be present on the internet.

She figures it out: She’d go by Marianne. If asked for a last name, she’d say Dubois. She would dub herself someone “who did not use social media” (Which was fine. Cosette never owned a smartphone, for obvious reasons.) She would be an incoming student originally from a tiny countryside town on a gap year to explore Paris and other parts of Europe.

Sometimes, she tries to daydream herself into those personas. Maybe, in another life, she was a girl who was able to grow up without the weight of what she had to hold. The scant pictures of her childhood that were hidden in her bedroom depicted a happy, bouncing child, the opposite of who she was now. Before her mama passed away, she used to chuckle trying to tuck Cosette into bed, “You’re such a happy girl. I hope you’ll be like that, always.” 

_ I wish I were, mama.  _ Cosette thought to herself as she tucked herself into bed. She pushed all thoughts of her out of her head, and focused on the task at hand.

+

Thursday afternoon, she slept in bed for most of the morning, knowing that after this mission started, she’d be too paranoid to sleep. When 1pm rolled around, she hopped out and made herself do some yoga, to center herself, to strengthen her mind.  _ I am going to this job. I am going to earn this money. And then, maybe after one more job, I’m going to get out and stop killing. _

When the beginnings of the evening began to creep upon the city, she threw open her closet. To fit in, she’d have to look like a student, somewhat. Easy to blend in, but enough to stick out to a law school boy. 

Gingerly, she took a white off-shoulder top, a pair of jeans, and short black boots with a heel. She decided to keep her make-up easy: filled in eyebrows, foundation, blush, natural eyeshadow, eyeliner. After she applied a dark pink lipstick, she tucked her cash, pen and paper, and metro ticket into her bag, and slipped out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette meets the man she is meant to kill, the Amis, and begins on this long mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! i will try to be posting more frequently. i'm still getting used to ao3 a bit, so i appreciate your patience. i promise the story will slowly pick up. some of the plot twists will be interesting, i think.

The Musain was a quaint little cafe on the other side of the city, maintaining much of the decor it had from the era of the French Revolution. The floor was tiled black and white, with a few lit chandeliers. Cosette took a moment to peer at the setting before immediately focusing on the group around her.

They were mostly men, from what she gathered. One woman was behind the bar, serving coffee and cake, laughing along with two other men sitting in front of her. There was another person sitting on a table, sipping on a cup and writing on a notebook. Her eyes were drawn to a man leaning against a wall, talking to two other men.  _ Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre. _

Yeah okay, Enjolras definitely looked like a troublemaker. His jaw was sharp and set, and his eyes were fierce as he gazed upon the room. Combeferre looked as if he was trying to convince him of something. Beside Combeferre, Courfeyrac was nodding, and she noticed their hands were clasped. These were the ones who would be “warned” after she did the job. The ones who would fear for their lives. Part of her plan was to become friendly, and get to know them, and join them in mourning their friend’s death.

Now, if she could only find Pontmercy…

Cosette looks up, and realizes,  _ Oh, I didn’t find him. He found me.  _ And, briefly, time slows to a stop.

She recognizes him immediately, even from nearly 30 feet away. His hair is wavy, and he’s standing, tall and alert. One hand is on his messenger bag, the other on his phone. His eyes are alight with something she can’t quite place. She wants to break the contact, but she can’t look away, either. 

His mouth is dropped, just a little, as if she did a wonderful magic trick. As if she pulled a rabbit out of a hat. He doesn’t even seem bothered when Courfeyrac bounces to greet him and slaps his shoulder. 

She shakes herself, and improvises. What would Marianne, a shy girl from the countryside, do? She decides to settle for a tiny smile and a small wave, and Marius smiles back, an ear-to-ear grin, cheeks flushing crimson. Cosette wonders to herself if this was how he'd always look at her.

Just then, Combeferre cleared his throat loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone hurries and takes a seat, and she follows, taking a table in the back, for observation. 

“Welcome, everyone. It’s great to see you all again,” Combeferre greeted, before shooting a look in Cosette’s direction, “and it appears we have a newcomer tonight,” his voice is soothing, “Would you like to convince yourself?”

She cleared her throat and continued her shy-wave charade, “Hello, everyone. I’m Marianne. I’m from the countryside originally, and I just moved here.”

“And what,” Combeferre asked with a tinge of curiosity, “brings you to the meeting of a bunch of protesting law school students?”

She shrugged and tilted her head, “I think there are many things that are worth changing. Maybe I could have a role in it.”

Enjolras raised his head to examine her, with intensity, “It’s good to have you, Marianne. I always say that the role of women is important in improving parts of society that impact everyone. Thank you for coming.”

She thanked them for having her, and she went to sit, taking out a new notebook and pen, to take notes. The meeting soon delved into plans for next week’s rally, one that would occur in front of city hall, one calling for the police chief to resign after not suspending two police officers for killing a child last week in cold blood.

“It’s outrageous that a hundred people will have to protest the murder because the police chief has no spine,” Enjolras ranted, “A bunch of pigs.”

“But,” Combeferre reminded, looking at him and to the room, “remember the last time our last protest got violent. There is no reason to provoke the police more than we must. We’re not looking to get Bossuet concussed again.” He turned his head to the far end of the room and said sheepishly, “Sorry, Bossuet.”

A bald man shook his head jovially, “Nah, that was on me. Never trust me with a picket sign ever again.”

“That piece of shit of a police officer shouldn’t have hit you on the head with it, anyways,” Courfeyrac piped up.

The man named Bossuet shrugged, “It is what it is. I only lost a couple brain cells, there wasn’t much to lose anyw-”

“In any case,” Enjolras interrupted, “Be careful. I don’t want to lose any of you.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Then, Enjolras lowered his voice.

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He’s looking around the room, “I do not know yet if I’ll share it. But it’s about everything we’ve worked on these past two months,” he met Cosette’s eyes before flickering to the rest of the room. Did he suspect something? “It’s still relatively secret, so it’s not an open thing to talk about yet.”

There seemed a silent understanding that she could not break. She probably would not get any useful information yet, then.

“Get home safe, everyone. I’ll see you all ne-”

“Wait! I want to say something!” Courfeyrac stood up, slightly indignant. Enjolras huffed and rolled his eyes, with a quirk in his lips.

“I just want to remind everyone that after the protest, Combeferre and I are offering our apartment to anyone who is injured or wants to avoid the police for a little longer. There will be an air mattress, some board games, and snacks!”

Combeferre cleared his throat, “Those are add-ons. We are stocked on medical supplies. You all know where to find us,” Cosette thought it would be wise to not say anything if she could come along, “You know the drill. I wish we could help out anyone, but we can’t give away our hideouts. If you see anyone in deep pain, if you can, bring them to the hospital. Or take them to one of the tents owned by the affiliate organizations who’ve helped us out in the past.”

What did that mean? Were there other groups who were helping them out?

Courfeyrac smiled, “Those are important. Just remember, though, after every protest, everyone is exhausted. Except Enjolras, since he’s only fuelled by fury,” he snorted, “so taking care of yourselves is key. And I am always willing to do that!” He finished cheerfully.

“Meeting adjourned.” Enjolras said finally, waving his hand at the crowd, “We’ll see you next week.”

She stood up slowly to gather her things, and started a countdown in her head to what she knew would happen next: five, four, three, two…

“Hello, Marianne, was it?” A breathless voice said next to her. She raised her head to look at the flushed face of Pontmercy, “I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Marius. It’s,” his voice tilted up an octave as he held up a hand, “so nice to meet you.”

She took his hand and shook it with a poised smile, “Charmed.”

“May I, er, walk you home?” He said, nervously.

She knew what to say next, “I can’t possibly ask that of you. I would think our apartments are far apart.”

“Well, it is fairly late. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of caring for yourself,” his voice was soft and perpetually gentle, as if nothing could dent it, “but in case you wanted a walking companion, that might help.”

“Alright, I just don’t want to impose. What direction are you walking in?” 

“West, towards the park.” 

She feigned surprise, “That’s the same direction I walk in! What a good coincidence.”

He perked up, pleased, “Great. I can definitely walk you home.”

She nodded, about to pick up her bag. It was just them in the cafe now, save for Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras, speaking to the side quietly. She peeked at them at the corner of her eye, studying how they were huddled up close.  _ That must be a huge secret they’re keeping. _

Then she gave Pontmercy a bright grin again (her cheeks were going to hurt after this mission), and said, “Shall we go, then?”

+

“What do you think of it, so far?” He asked her as they stepped out of the cafe.

“It’s certainly interesting,” she mused, “What happened to the child was horrifying. The protest is worth doing.” She had no idea if that worked as an answer, so she hoped for the best.

He looked slightly despondent, “Not uncommon, unfortunately. I’ve been volunteering with another organization this past year. The police or the government won’t admit it, of course. In the past decade, the police have fatally injured about 70 kids living on the street.”

She froze in place, genuinely shocked. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah. A few small media outlets have reported it, the thing is the number is never exact. The organization is pretty sure of the number because they’ve checked it consistently with orphanage and death certificate records. TV stations or bigger newspapers won’t report it, though.” He looked to her, hands in his pockets, eyes drawn to the ground.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I wonder if the police have paid them off in exchange for a bigger scoop or other info, because this isn’t the newest information.”

Cosette genuinely doesn’t know what to say, or think, other than the fact that she needs to change the subject. And as they make a right turn, she manages to say, “So, volunteering at the organization. Is that your full-time job?”

He shook his head, “Nah. I’m a law student at Sorbonne. In my second year. I volunteer with a couple of non-profits outside of school and work with the Amis. How about you? What do you do?”

She spoke through her rehearsed script, “I moved her to take a gap year before I start school myself. I delayed going to school because I stayed at home.”

Pontmercy now began to slow to a stop, “I hate to cut this short. My apartment is over here. Would you like me to continue walking you back to your place?”

She shook her head, “No, it’s okay. It was really nice to meet you,” she gave her countryside girl smile again, “Maybe we can walk together home in this direction regularly. I don’t know anyone in Paris yet, so you’d be the first person I’d meet.”

He smiled, bright, “How about we exchange social media, or numbers?”

She tried to look embarrassed, looking at her shoes, “Oh, I don’t keep a phone. Or social media.”

Marius took a double take, “Oh? Why is that?”

“I never had any need for it. But I might get one now that I’m traveling. I’ll let you know when I get one, then I can get your number.” She said shyly.

“That sounds good,” he’s looking straight at her, moonlight touching the tips of his hair and cheekbones, “Have a good night. Stay safe.”

She watched him walk into the building, walked a few more blocks forward, then took the train back in the actual direction of her own apartment, gathering thoughts and impressions she had of the night. She thought briefly of the children who’d suffered at the hands of those pigs, and wondered if she would have been one of them if not for the fact her mama had provided for her while barely holding on.

+

That night, Cosette is falling asleep and slipping into a pleasant trance when she hears the ghost of a hand touch her shoulder. Her eyes snap open and get ready to kick, or scream, when she looks into a pair of eyes exactly like hers.

She sucks in a breath, “Mama?”

She is as gaunt as Cosette last saw her, dressed in a thin nightgown. But her face...it was still warm and full of love that she knew years ago. Her eyes were not hungry-looking as they used to be, and her hand was warm on Cosette’s shoulder.

“My darling,” she said softly, coaxing her upwards to sit up, “So beautiful.”

“What are you--how are you--?”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Fantine said urgently, the gentleness in her voice fading slightly, “Be careful. Be careful.”

“Be careful of what, mama?”

“Look over your shoulder. Things are not right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

“Mama!”

Cosette’s eyes open for real, this time. Her room is the same as it had been, and she was the only occupant in the empty space. Just as quickly as she appeared, Fantine was gone. 

She took one gulp of air, perplexed and disappointed. In the years since she had passed, her mother never appeared in her dreams. She only existed now in Cosette’s waking thoughts, and the rare pictures she owned. Why now, and why on the first night after taking on a case?

She willed her heartbeat to slow, breathing slowly, and settled her eyes to the ceiling. Maybe just some silly dream. Her paranoia, perhaps. Some silly dream. What mattered now? That she got her current job done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check back soon, chapter 3 will be posted soon! any feedback helps :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette is discovering that this mission is much more complex than she first imagined. And might require blending in with the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like how this began as an Assassin AU love story and what i'm writing is very rapidly becoming a really extremely complex plot and i LOVE IT. cosette is beginning to really figure things out, and is going to start getting entangled with the craziness that is the amis.
> 
> this is a really slow burn fic, so your patience with me completing the story is really appreciated!

The days in-between meetings, Cosette collected news articles and recordings of the Amis, for a widened context. The first meeting showed her one thing: that this was going to be a slow-burn assignment. One that needed a wider context if she wanted to gain trust. She wasn’t exactly happy with it. She preferred finishing an assignment in a week, maybe less. But, whatever. She was looking forward to her thousands of euro payment.

She started piecing out a timeline. The earliest recording of anyone in the Amis was Enjolras when he was 18 at university.  _ Figures,  _ she thought,  _ he’d be a troublemaker before he even finished college credits.  _ He had demanded the resignation of an employee of the mayor who had used taxpayer money to buy himself a month-long vacation. It was a rousing disaster: he ended up arrested overnight. But the impact it had was incredible.

The Amis was later formed with the rest of the team. She began to identify the other members based on pictures and their captions from who she remembered, and wrote notes for the next time she came to the Musain.

_ Joly: black flat hair, evidently pre-med based on article information _

_ Bossuet: unlucky man, bald man, a tattoo on his shoulder _

_ Musichetta: dark hair, with an undercut, tall _

_ Jean: long hair, petite, wears flowers? _

_ Feuilly: red-haired, gangly, a tattoo on his arm _

_ Bahorel: tall, wide set, muscled _

As the team formed, the greater the protests amassed. She was, realistically, impressed with their work. They did, in actuality, collaborate with other activist groups in Paris, like a medical student union and a labor union. Some of their protests gathered over 700 people.

Then why was she only meant to target the Amis? What made them special? Why not any of the other groups?

They must have provoked the government even more. Was it related to what Enjolras knew? These were the questions she needed answered. 

The following Wednesday, she returned to Musain cafe to do a scope of the cafe and see why this was their chosen location. What made this particular establishment more important than the other? Was there a connection?

She sat down on the bar at lunchtime and quietly ordered a coffee and a sandwich when she heard a booming voice.

“Oh, hello! Marianne, I think, was your name?”

She looked up and recognized Musichetta as the other person behind the bar. Her hair was tied up, smiling widely as she patted her apron. So maybe this was a reason: because she worked here, and it would be easier.

“Oh, hello. I remember you as well from last week.” She said in her Marianne voice, “But I never got your name. What’s your name?”

“I’m Musichetta. Call me Chetta, though. What a lovely coincidence that you came here during a shift,” she reached out a sandwich in front of Cosette, “The boys never visit me here except for a meeting! I suppose you wanted to learn more about the cafe, huh?”

“I did. Do you work here?”

“I do. Have been for three years. I met Enjolras here,” she chuckled, “That’s how I got introduced to their group. He became obsessed with this cafe. Something about its history, I think this was the setting or something of a small uprising before the French Revolution. Now, I myself am not French, so I don’t think it’s special. But as you’ve probably seen, it’s everything for Enjolras. So he brought his friends here, they’ve been here ever since.”

“So you’re not French, then?”

“I’m not. I’m Italian.”

“That’s interesting,” she didn’t have to pretend, because it was, “So the group likes to meet here because of the history?”

“That’s part of it,” she nodded, before lowering her voice, “When you’ve been with the group long enough, you’ll know the rest.” She parted from Cosette’s ear, “I better get back to work! Let me know if you need anything. Coffee is on the house!”

She thanked her, and continued eating, observing the setting now. She thought of what Chetta said. There were definitely other reasons behind this choice for a cafe, ones that the commissioner of this hit would probably need to know. How important was this information, then, in context to their group, or their protests?

She finished paying, and went along, now walking on the road that she and Marius walked. She half-hoped she would run into him, in the hopes maybe she’d glean more information about him. It could help, she reassured herself.

Pontmercy wasn’t around the area, so she kept going and took the train back, definitely not disappointed. But ready. Ready for the next day.

+

Thursday morning, she looks at her notes one more time, creating questions in her head to ask Pontmercy later on their walk home. She knew now that he seemed to trust her easily, and would likely open up. (A lucky side effect of appearing innocent.) When the afternoon came around, she put on her shoes, slipped on a pink sweater and jeans before heading out.

Paris seemed exceptionally beautiful that day. Even as autumn began to quickly fall on the city, some of the summer warmth remained. While she tried to focus on the task, she inhaled the air and exhaled. Wouldn’t it be so nice to just enjoy the weather, not look over your shoulder?

She slipped into the Musain, and found that people were eating on plates. As if on cue, her stomach growled. She didn’t even realize how hungry she was. Nearby, Pontmercy called her.

“Marianne!”

She waved slightly and walked by, “Hello, Marius. What’s with all the food?”

“Courfeyrac’s job had a fundraiser and he got leftovers. There’s some sandwiches, they’re really good. Little desserts and things. You should go ahead and get some. And maybe,” he called out loudly, “Bahorel will save you some before he finishes them all.”

The man in question turned around, two sandwiches in his mouth, raising his arms in surrender, “In my defense,” he said, “I haven’t eaten since this morning, let me be.”

Pontmercy laughed, shoulders shaking a little, “Alright. Just leave some for the rest of us. Are you hungry, Marianne?”

“Famished. Let me go get some food.”

She was grateful for the food, especially the tiny turnovers that melted in her mouth. She raised her head to listen to Enjolras, who had now begun speaking while leaning against the bar with a glass of water. 

“Rally is on for this Saturday. The teacher’s union had to drop out, unfortunately. Too many of them were threatened to not join.”

“What?” Jehan piped up. This was the first time Cosette heard them speak, and their voice was almost lyrical if not for the outrage in tone, “That’s illegal.”

“You’re right there,” Enjolras said grimly, “But it’s understandable. The medical student union is remaining, as is the workers’ union. The good news is a Church organization has joined too. I think that will really pull the religious audience. Thank you for pulling them in, Feuilly.”

“No problem,” he said in the next table over, “There are perks to having your mom still involved in the church and pretending to be Catholic to this day.”

“You’re about as religious as you are heterosexual, Feuilly.” Joly snorted.

“And that makes me a good actor!” 

“In any case,” Combeferre said, trying not to laugh, “We’re expecting about 500. Great turnout. We should all be early, so be in front of City Hall by 8 am. Remember, this week, bring water, band-aids, extra socks, and extra shoes, and a jacket. No notebooks and poetry books.”

“He means you, Jehan,” Courfeyrac whispered theatrically. 

“I’ve learned my lesson!” Jehan protested, “But I’ll bring one poetry book. For good luck.”

“I’m holding you to that, Prouvaire. Now, the second part of the agenda. An important part. Enjolras?”

“Yes. I’ll need some help assisting with this one. ‘Chetta?”

Everyone turned to face the woman in question, who was sitting at a table close to the bar, uncharacteristically quiet, Cosette immediately noticed. Her hands were on her lap, lips in a thin line.

“I’ll let Enjolras take over for other parts, but I can’t say everything yet. As you all know, we’re all being careful of where information is going.” Cosette thought she saw her eyes flicker in her direction, but she kept going, “All you need to know is the source is trustworthy. The information they’re giving us is  _ groundbreaking.  _ Enjolras and I are still gaining a better understanding of what’s going on here.”

“Thank you, ‘Chetta. The reason why we’re telling you this,” Enjolras continued, “is because eventually, a few of you might need to pick up some extra rules to vet information. And look for people. It’ll become clearer soon. I promise.”

+

She began to pack up her things, and was chatting amiably with Pontmercy about the food Courfeyrac had brought (small talk, but whatever), when she glanced in another direction and saw Musichetta and Enjolras conversing. 

Cosette tries to not assume anything in missions, but this was something she had not expected. The bartender and the leader, working together to collect more important information. Musichetta slipped a piece of paper to the blond man, who nodded and began to walk out of the cafe. She, on the other hand, walked over to where Bossuet and Joly were waiting for her. She threw an arm around each of them, and walked out.

There was something bigger here.

She and Pontmercy now walked out, and the air was crisper than it had been when she first walked in. He was now talking about the animals at the shelter, and Cosette thought this was a good time to ask a question under an innocent guise.

“Am I the reason Enjolras won’t say anything about the information?” She asked, trying to seem both curious and concerned.

He looked at her nervously, and sighed, “Yes. They don’t have anything against you. They’re just keeping an eye out for any double agents. Now,” he said quickly, “I don’t think you are. I think you have good intentions. It’s more out of precaution. I guess they’re waiting to see if they can trust you.”

“Do you know what it is?” She questioned, making her eyes as big as possible.

“Yes, I do. But I can’t say.” He turned away from her to look forward. Damn. He’s harder to crack than expected, “It’s not my place. I think you have good intentions, though.”

“How can I make them trust me? I want to help as much as I can.” She lied, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

He hummed in thought, “I think...come to the rally this Saturday. Show that you’re marching. And join us in Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s apartment afterwards. I’ll give you the address, if you have a piece of paper. I promise they’re all really great people. They just don’t want to risk lives at the moment.”

“Risk lives?”

“I’ve already said too much.” He admitted, as they slowed to a stop in front of his building, “Here, give me a piece of paper.”

She dug into her purse and handed him a pen and the fresh notebook she just opened (definitely not a time to risk anything). He turned to the wall of the building and scribbled before turning back to her.

“It’s lovely talking to you. And I look forward to seeing you getting involved,” he held the notebook and pen out, “Stay safe walking home.”

Her fingers grazed hers as she took back her things, and she vaguely thought how it was possible his hands were so warm in the cold, “Thank you. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Make sure you stay safe. I know you’re capable though.”

She bid him good night and walked towards the train station. She thought at the back of her mind how he was probably the first person meant to target that had never doubted her. It felt nice. Almost comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm kind of at that point where i'm deciding if i /can/ write multi-chapter fics or if if i'm just destined to only write one-shots. what do you think? should i stay with one-shots??? 
> 
> yes, folks, musichetta will now be a key character here on out! she's ALSO very underrated. keep an eye out for her!
> 
> and if you're wondering where two of the best les mis characters are, they're coming. don't worry ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rally happens, a concussion happens, and Cosette comes a little closer to discovering the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhh i've been really enjoying this! and just a little more before we get to introducing a few more interesting characters, and marius subtly really liking cosette even more. stay tuned!

“I was not expecting to see you here today,” the Planner said in lieu of a greeting as he sat down on his chair, “I assume you have information.”

“Plenty. But first, have you heard from the contractor at all?”

“Only that they’re aware of the protest on Saturday. Luckily for us, they don’t know who you are. They haven’t made an appearance at meetings because of the risk it would be. So I’m assuming you’ve done a good job at being undercover. Now, what do you know?”

She pulled out her notebook and opened the pages, “First, they’re expecting 500 people at the protest this Saturday. A mix of unions are involved, which I’m sure they’re aware of. A Church organization is joining. They might want to look at that, given that this means the Amis are tapping into the religious population of the city.”

“I see. Good finds, Cosette.”

“There’s even more. I know you said Enjolras is an important part of the mission, since he’s the most dangerous. But there’s actually another important player. She’s a bartender at the Musain. Her name is Musichetta. She’s been gathering information from an anonymous source.”

“What kind of information?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. They won’t say. They’re still trying to figure out if they can trust me, so I’m working on that. One thing for sure with the source: it’s a snitch on the inside, though I’m not sure if they’re involved with the contractor. Musichetta is slipping pieces of paper to Enjolras. I have a feeling that whoever it is,” she mused, “that it’s a regular at the cafe, feeding her information while she’s on shift. But don’t tell the contractor that. I don’t want any assumptions to be made.” She carefully decided not to mention that she slightly worried about people spying on Chetta. 

“Okay. I’ll feed the rest of the information to the contractor by today. How are you and Pontmercy?”

“He’s fine. I have him wrapped around my finger. He hasn’t provided any information for me yet. I have a feeling the rest of the group will warm up to me after I attend the protest on Saturday.” She said slowly, trying to wrap her head around their conversation from the night before. Trying to ignore the memory of those warm hands.

“Good. Come back when you have new information. This is a high-priority case, so I’m glad you’re taking it slowly.”

“It’s my job, sir.”

+

On Saturday morning, she went sensible and wore a white shirt over black pants, tying her hair up in a high ponytail. She opted for a brown jacket, and pulled out a backpack she’d owned since she was 14. She packed bottled water, band-aids, wet wipes, and some other materials that would prove useful. 

For a day meant for 500 people protesting, the day was perfect. City Hall was empty save for the Amis and a few others (union leaders, she assumed) standing near the front. Courfeyrac saw her first, and waved, “Great to see you!”

“Great to see you, too!” Her Marianne voice was becoming impeccable, but she wanted to ask the question that’s been on her mind, “Just wondering, why are we at City Hall if it’s a Saturday, so no one’s at work?”

He shrugged, “I thought that was kind of weird, too. But everyone thought it would be a good idea because more people are likely glued to the TV watching news, plus if it really makes a statement, the city government would be more likely to respond over the weekend, which forces them to come into work.” 

“I see. D-do you think it’ll become violent today?”

She did not mean for her actual worry to seep into her voice (and she didn’t know why she was worried, in any case). Courfeyrac noticed, and his expression softened considerably.

“I don’t know. You should stick with us, just in case. Well, maybe not Enjolras, myself, or Combeferre,” he huffed a laugh, “Police are familiar with us. I’d stick with Bossuet or Feuilly. Or Marius,” he waggled his eyebrows, “he won’t mind at all. Oh, hey, speak of the devil.”

She put on a show of shaking her head and smiling sheepishly before turning to Pontmercy to greet him with slightly feigned excitement. He waved back, and said, “I just saw a group of people on their way. It’s incredible. I haven’t seen a turnout this big in a while.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a protest this close,” she admitted, “I’d like to see what it’s all about and how it works.”

“Just watch the surroundings. You’ll see. And it’s only 8:05. Once it’s 9, it’ll look completely different.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Cosette first watched groups of 10 arrive on the steps, averaging at maybe 40 people every 10 minutes. Her mouth dropped as she noted at least 50 people in one group joined, holding a sign that said “Saint Rose Church” with Feuilly at the front, grinning. By the time 8:45 rolled around, the entire Rue de Rivoli was packed. Signs were being waved around, as were banners. 

At 9 sharp, Combeferre pushed a giant platform towards the front and helped Enjolras stand on it. Courfeyrac handed him a megaphone and began to call out to the crowd, and with a click of a switch, he began to speak.

“Each and every one of you today are here because you decided that the murder of one child for being a beggar, because she was hungry, is one child too many,” he spoke. No, he called to the crowd. It was a call of action. The news articles were not kidding around when they said he was a good speaker. He made her root herself to the spot and listen. 

“But if that’s not terrifying enough to you, then there’s something you need to know. This is not the first child who has died at the hands of those who are sworn to protect us. One of our co-organizations is here with us today, the Center for Child Welfare. And we’ve been working with them. To their knowledge, because of their work, there are 70 known cases of street children being killed by police. Citizens of Paris, do the police have the right to play god? To take lives?”

The crowd roared back a resounding no. 

“And if that’s not terrible enough, the city government has covered it up. We have the proof. Right now, we’re distributing leaflets to all of you where you can find this information, and how the Center for Child Welfare has worked hard to bring justice to those left to die in the streets.”

Cosette turned to face Marius, immediately making the connection. He looked back at her, and somehow, his eyes communicated to her, yes, this is what I’ve been working on. 

“But your government chose to hide it. Why? So that you, citizens of Paris, will not rise against them. Because this is an election year, and they’re trying to hide their misdeeds. Take a look. None of the newspapers have reported it. None of the TV channels have reported it. Why? Because the government has paid most of them off. They’re cowards. And we must bring these children, whose families never found solutions, to justice. Our course today is to walk down the Rue. We will call the names of each child that has suffered. Make sure you get a leaflet, and spread the word. Are we ready?”

The crowd screamed. Cosette’s ears began to hurt.

Enjolras slowly stepped off the podium, and walked in one direction, and the crowd began to follow.

“Justice for Arthur Bernard!” His voice echoed through the megaphone.

“JUSTICE FOR ARTHUR BERNARD!” The crowd chanted.

Cosette drifted towards Marius, walking about 15 feet behind the first lines, blending in with the crowd. His eyes followed her, studying her intently.

“So this is what you were working on,” she said quietly, ignoring the loud voices behind her, “Wow. This is unbelievable.”

“It is,” he nodded, “I can’t the government hasn’t said anything about it either, but they did a good job of covering their tracks,” he passed her a leaflet, “Here, look.”

“JUSTICE FOR LOUISE MICHEL!”

Cosette opened up the leaflet and saw a list of names, including their ages, the location they were killed, and included a few pictures that existed of the children. On the right was quotes from an independent report from the Center for Child Welfare, and a typed link to their website that included the full report. Disguise aside, she felt like she was punched in the gut.

“They really decided to hide this much? All to get elected?”

“That bit is speculation,” Marius said grimly, “But Enjolras makes a good point about it.”

“Is this the source of information that Musichetta was talking about?”

“JUSTICE FOR TIAGO BLANC!”

He shook his head, “No, that’s something else. They’re slightly related. Like I said, I can’t say much yet. I don’t even know a to-”

They abruptly stopped. The group in front, which included Enjolras, the rest of the Amis, and a few others, were all frozen in place. In front of them were members of the police, all with shields and bats. They had been walking a while, and didn’t even realize that they were already in front of the Louvre. In front of them, Combeferre appeared to be trying to speak with them, and she could visibly see Courfeyrac putting one firm hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, as if to hold him back.

Pontmercy walked a few steps forward, and she instinctively followed. She was just able to hear a few words between Combeferre and a police officer:

“Monsieur, I assure you, this was only meant to be peaceful…”

Then, before she could even comprehend, people were screaming. A grey smoke shrouded all of her surroundings, and the crowd disappeared. The front of the Louvre was suddenly gone. People were pulling in all directions, almost pushing her to the ground, when she felt a hand pull her up.

“Marianne! Marianne! Are you alright?” Pontmercy was coughing, eyes watering. Cosette found her own eyes burning, only able to recognize him through his voice and his blurry silhouette, “Come on, we better get going. Don’t let go of my hand!”

The two of them stumbled across the street. She could barely see anything, and in her fumbling forward, her breathing began to speed up. She had never been blocked from seeing before, she’d always relied on her sight. What would happen now? 

Something collided into her, and she fell on to the ground. Her head practically rammed into the ground. The concrete burned under her skin, and she managed to sit up. But she couldn’t stand at all.

“Marius! Marius! Where are you?” She panicked. What was she going to do? What if the police decided to catch her? She’d have to give her real name to the police, she’d reveal her true identity.

“Marianne!” She could hear him distantly, also sounding panicked, “I’m here. I’ll follow your voice, just keep calling out!”

“Okay. Just find me, please. Did you fall down?” She could only see blurs of figures running away, and somewhere behind was also distant yelling.

“Someone must have knocked us over,” he was getting closer, “But don’t worry. I think my eyes are getting clearer. We’ll head to Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment as soon as possible.”

Her head was getting so nauseous, she thought she was going to throw up. All of these years of training, and suddenly this was uncharted territory that only scared her more than most of her missions combined. 

She felt something warm covering her hand, and she recognized Marius’ face through the bleariness. He tugged her upwards to stand. She almost doubled over and fell again. 

“Whoa! Are you alright?”

“I hit my head on the pavement,” she croaked, “my head hurts. How far is the apartment?”

“Just a few blocks away. Don’t worry, I’ll help you walk.” Without hesitation, he threw an arm around her and began to hobble along, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I got you. And Combeferre and Joly will look at you. They should be there, Joly hung around at the apartment instead of coming today in case things started to get messy.”

“Do all your protests always end up this way?” She meant to sound lighthearted, but in reality she was two steps away from having a full-on mental breakdown, which hadn’t happened to her in years. What’s happening to me? Why am I so scared?

“They’re getting worse. It never used to be this way,” he turned right into a smaller road, “And all of our protests were peaceful. We were loud, but we’ve never allowed destruction of property. Ever.”

Her headache was brewing, and her knees buckled slightly, “It’s hurting so much.”

“We’re nearly there. Come on, Marianne,” he was practically dragging her.

“Why does the police target the Amis, then?” She tried gritting out.

“That’s what I don’t know. I think it has something to do with Courf, Ferre, and Enjolras being arrested all the time. We’re here,” through the blurry vision, she could see him open a metal gate with a set of stairs tilting up, “They’re on the second floor. Do you think you can head up the stairs?”

“As long as you help me up,” she said honestly.

“Of course.” He didn’t even hesitate. Marius practically lifted her with one arm, Cosette remembering that he was a head taller than her and probably could carry her easily. At the top of the stairs, he finally hobbled her to a door and knocked loudly.

The door opened, and she heard a voice, “Oh thank god. We didn’t know what happened to you too.”

“Joly, Marianne, she-”

Cosette found herself being gently led through the apartment, and she saw a swirl of colors of blue, brown, black, white, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. She felt being sat down on a chair. A light suddenly shone into her eyes, and she flinched, and found herself shocked into silence.

“What happened?”

“Both of us found ourselves with blurry vision. We tried heading here, then someone collided into us. She fell head-first into the pavement.” His voice was still panicked, “Why were our eyes clouded?”

“They fucking tear-gassed us, Marius,” she heard anothet deep voice. Bahorel. “We didn’t even do anything. Combeferre was trying to calm everything down, then the pigs gassed all of them. We’re trying to contact everyone to make sure things are okay.”

“Marianne,” Joly said, “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts,” she managed to get out, “I still can’t see.”

“Okay. Follow my finger, alright?”

She tried following his finger with her eyes, all the while listening to Bahorel and Marius.

“No one else is back yet.”

“Feuilly is on his way. Combeferre, Courf, and Enj were handled by police, probably in jail again. Chetta and Bossuet went to check.”

“And Jehan?”

“We don’t know. No one can get in touch with them.”

“Shit.” This is the first time she ever heard him curse.

Meanwhile, Joly sighed and turned off his tiny flashlight, “You’re badly concussed. I’ll help you sit on the couch. I’ll get you shades, too, so there isn’t harsh light.”

The door opened, and she heard someone panting. Finally, her eyes began to clear slightly, and she could make out his face.

“Oh, thank god. Feuilly.” Bahorel stood up and bear hugged him, giving him a kiss on the forehead, “Are you okay?”

“Eyes watery. Fine otherwise.” He spoke, “Whatever the police used, that tear gas was powerful stuff.”

Joly returned in front of her, gently placing shades on her eyes, “Relax your head as much as you can.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Marius was wringing his hands, sitting next to her.

“You need to rest for at least a week. No exposure to harsh light, as much as possible,” he instructed her, “Don’t do anything stressful. Avoid looking at a computer or phone, if you can.”

“O-okay.” She was suddenly very grateful to have a pre-med student giving her advice. 

Beside her, Marius hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder, “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

She slowly nodded, “That would be really nice. Thank you.”

+

The door opened, and there was a chorus of relieved voices, “Jehan!”

“I’m so sorry I worried all of you,” they said, “There was a pregnant woman protesting nearby us, and she was badly teargassed. Then she went into labor when I tried to check on her. I took her to the hospital. I didn’t want to leave her side.”

“Oh my god,” Joly said, “Is she okay?”

Jehan smiled, “She named the baby after me.”

“That’s wonderful, Jehan!” Marius clasped his hands together.

“Where’s everyone else?” They asked, “We’re missing a lot of people.”

“Turns out our three leaders are in jail. Chetta and Bossuet are waiting for the police to post bail. Some fucker gave Courfeyrac a black eye,” Bahorel said grimly, “The police are becoming unreasonable.”

Jehan turned now to the couch, where Cosette was watching, “Oh no. What happened to you?”

“I got a concussion on my way here,” she explained, “I’m feeling a bit better. Head hurts badly, though.”

+

“They posted bail for Courf and Ferre. We paid for it, they’ll be heading here this afternoon. They just want to interview them before release.” Bossuet announced as he walked through the door frame, “They won’t release Enjolras. They’re keeping him at least until tonight.”

At this point, it was the mid-afternoon. Chetta shook her head, “I can’t believe we protested all of half an hour before they shut us down. It was completely peaceful.”

“How are all three of them?” Joly asked.

“Courfeyrac’s black eye is bad. Combeferre has a cut on his cheek, nothing terrible. Enjolras seems fine, somehow. I don’t know how. He’s just boiling with anger, though.” Bossuet said, “Everyone else okay?”

“Marianne has a concussion.” Jehan piped up.

“Oh, absolutely the fuck not,” Chetta growled, making her way to Cosette immediately, “Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry, darling. Your first protest, too.” She sat on the couch next to her. “Are you hungry? I just realized none of us have eaten. It’s already 3pm. What would everyone like?”

Cosette thought, Well, I’ll be here a while. May as well suggest something, right? She said, “I want the oiliest, cheapest Chinese food there is.”

Bossuet smiled for the first time since he came back, “How did you know what I was craving? I like your style.”

+

Three containers of dumplings, four containers of orange chicken, and an indeterminate amount of other dishes later, Cosette’s vision finally cleared up, spare for the headache that continued to boil her head. Joly gave her a heating pad for her head, and she surmised that she must look ridiculous. Nightfall was nearing, when the door opened up.

“Thank goodness. You’re here!” 

Courfeyrac and Combeferre limped inwards of the apartment, and the group gasped seconds later. Cosette turned, and Enjolras was limping after them. “They released all of you!”

The blond man quirked his lips, “They seemed tired of me. I came prepared with enough bail money.”

“You still owe me 20 euros,” Courf jokes.

“Yeah, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. His eyes turned to Cosette, with her giant shades and heating pad. His slight smile faded, “Did something happen?”

“I just have a concussion,” she said, shrugging lightly.

“It is not just a concussion,” Joly scolded her, and in the back of her head, she thought it was nice of him to be so concerned, “It’s a very major one. You’re not allowed out of your apartment, which means you can’t go to next week’s meeting.”

Combeferre walked over to her and bent down so they were at eye-level, “That does look very serious. Do you have a roommate who can help you around?”

“I don’t, but I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Marius worried, “I can always come around and cook for you. I don’t think you should do much on your own.”

“No, no!” She said quickly, remembering the one too many weapons and extensive notes on the entire group in front of her, “I’ll be okay. I usually cook microwavable meals anyway.”

He still looked like he was going to insist on helping her when Courfeyrac said, “I trust you, Marianne. You seem tough. Now, is there some spare orange chicken?” He flopped on the couch, “Jail has the shittiest food service!”

+

By late night, many of them had left, and only Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Marius remained, aside from her, still seated on the couch as she still rested her head at Joly’s insistence. She had only patiently listened to them talk, noticing how they managed to communicate multitudes without actually stating any real information. She decided to only listen, and eat the leftover Chinese.

Marius sighed, looking at the other three exhaustedly, “I’m tired of speaking in code,” he rubbed a hand over his eyes, “Can we just tell Marianne what’s going on? Please?”

The three of them looked at each other, as if having a silent conversation. Silently, Courfeyrac stood up and sat on the couch, facing her.

“I’m sorry we’ve been keeping secrets from you. But can I ask you something, first?”

“Of course.”

“Is Marianne your real name?”

She caught herself before showing any hint of emotion, blinking in surprise behind the shades, “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Courf inhaled, “None of us want to assume any wrongful intentions. We just want to be sure that you’re here because you want to be part of our group. No other reason. Could I just ask you a few other questions about you, just to make sure?”

She nodded, pulling up all of her memorized information of this fake life.

“What’s your full name?”

“Marianne Isabelle Dubois.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m 24.”

“What brought you to Paris?”

“I wanted to spend a gap year traveling around France and other parts of Europe before beginning university. I had some family here and visited them as a child, so I wanted to come back and see it as an adult.”

“Why are you attending university so late?”

“I spent six years taking care of my grandparents before they died,” this was not entirely wrong, considering the years she took care of Fantine.

“Oh,” his face fell, “I’m sorry. Where did you grow up?”

“Èze,” she desperately hoped none of the Amis had any connections there.

Courfeyrac observed her a little further. Was she acting suspicious, or do anything that gave her away? Finally, he stood up and said, “Are you strong enough to go home?”

“I think so. My head is feeling a lot better. Once I’m home, I probably won’t leave.”

“I can come with you.” Marius abruptly stood up.

“Actually,” she said carefully, “I’ll go home on my own, if that’s okay. I just want to process everything that happened today.”

“Oh,” he looked disappointed, “alright. Are you sure?”

“I’ll call a cab! It’s okay.” She insisted.

“Okay. I hope you get home safe.”

“Thank you,” she slowly stood up and collected her backpack and jacket.

“And Marianne?” This time, it was Enjolras who spoke. He was glancing at her from across the room.

“Yes?”

“Feel better.”

“Thanks, Enjolras.”

+

Marius opened the door for Marianne and waved goodbye to her, watching her blonde hair through the window as the cab sped away. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the image of her terrified face as they tried to stumble through the streets together. Or the way she looked grateful when he helped her up. 

It had been a bit hard to take her off his mind. Really hard.

He stepped back up the stairs and reentered the apartment, sitting at the table with the three.

“Sorry we had to delay that for so long, Marius,” Combeferre apologized, “I know you think Marianne is worth trusting, but we don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”

“She got a concussion today,” he immediately defended, “I would think that any spy wouldn’t try to do that.”

“I don’t think so. We shouldn’t trust so easily,” Combeferre returned, “Remember what happened with Montparnasse?” 

Marius fell quiet.

Enjolras now cleared his throat, “We’re thinking about it. I won’t lie, seeing her today on the couch was unsettling. But now, on to pressing matters. Is everyone from the Center okay?”

“Everyone is fine,” Marius said, “The one good thing about this is that all the leaflets are gone. Their website has been getting more than two thousand visits today, so the information is going out there into the city.”

“The government and police won’t be able to hide anything now,” Courfeyrac said.

“To our knowledge, most of the union leaders are fine, too.” Combeferre said, “It almost seems as if the police only care about injuring us,” he almost sounded like he was joking, except he was not, “If there are any injuries, we don’t know of them. No reports of anything terrible from the tear gas.”

“That’s good to hear. Why else did you want me to stick around?”

The three men in front of Marius went silent again. Silence, it seemed, proliferated the room the whole day. But Enjolras was studying him, as if making final decisions in a matter of seconds. 

“Marius, you recall the source that Chetta and I mentioned on Thursday?” He said, swinging a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed.

“Yes, of course.”

“She’s been collecting information from them reliably. But the source is beginning to worry that superiors are zeroing in on any suspicious behavior. I believe they’re aware that someone is feeding us information. The Musain is becoming suspicious as a venue. So we’re wondering if you’d be willing to pass on information too.”

He considered this, and then nodded, “How many people know this source’s identity?”

“It will be you, me, and Chetta. Not even Ferre and Courf know,” Enjolras pointed a thumb at his two best friends.

“Believe me, we’re not happy about it,” Combeferre said, frowning at him, “But from what we’ve been told, it’s a necessary evil.”

“How do you want me to collect info, now?” Marius asked.

“The shelter. Do you still volunteer once a week?”

“Yeah, on Fridays, from 3 to 5.”

“The source will pass by right after you leave, at 5:10. He’ll give you a paper with information. It’s written in code, though. Only Chetta and I can read it. Don’t try to attempt to introduce yourself or get to know him.”

“You really are wrapping up any layers to hide information.” He noted.

“We need to. Protecting the source’s identity is important, so no one can know. The information we have is enough to put the government under national scrutiny. International scrutiny, even. It’ll take time to collect enough and figure out what to do with it, or how to best approach rallying for it.”

Courfeyrac cracked up a laugh, “Sorry, man. You can’t tell your girlfriend.”

Marius’ cheeks went a deep red, “She is not my gir-”

“You are not great at hiding your crushes, Pontmercy.” Enjolras smirked.

“And I’m not afraid to admit it!” He raised his hands in surrender, “Marianne is a lovely woman, incredibly curious and caring, and I really want to get to know her!”

Combeferre finally commented, “I hope it works out. Really. Are you going to ask her on a date?”

He smiled, “I hope so. Soon. Maybe when all of this has quieted down.”

Courfeyrac snorted, though his twinkling eyes betrayed his fondness, “What? Our work? I’ll be surprised if we finish it in this lifetime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew. will post more soon! :)))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From moving to Cosette's point of view, we start to see another perspective, unfolding events of the reason why someone wants Marius dead. Chetta speaks in code, a Queen reference, and healing from a concussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this /is/ actual confirmation that the source chetta is speaking to is connected to whoever contracted cosette to kill marius. take note here that the contractor still does not know who cosette is, if this helps.

Cosette spent the days rolling her head on the pillow, unable to sleep, but still keeping herself in the dark of her room. The concussion made its presence known in waves: for hours at a time she would feel better (though her head felt hollow) before it came back in full force. She kept her promise to Joly and avoided looking at her laptop, which she hated. This downtime would have been the perfect time to scrape more information together.

Judging by how her head hurt, it probably wouldn’t do her any good. She spent most of her time either trying to sleep, or reviewing her notes. She did the occasional yoga, whenever she had the energy. By the time Tuesday came around, she had an entire map of questions, webbing the Amis together.

She’s never needed to do this for a mission. Most of them had gone by quickly: identify targets, strike up conversation, seem innocent, flirt if necessary, then take aim. No one has ever been suspicious of her, because she had taken care to be in the periphery of this person’s life, a minute detail. That’s why the Planner always called her back to do the undercover missions that were quick.

But now, looking at the web, she knew that it was necessary. It was slightly satisfying, because it filled in any blanks she might have had about the group. If she needed to know anything, it was that gaining trust of the entire group (and the information) would mean paying attention to them. One page of questions and unfilled blanks remained to bother her.

_Dating:_   
_Courfeyrac and Combeferre (based on the fact they live in a one-bedroom apartment)_   
_Bahorel and Feuilly_   
_Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta (?)_

_Occupations_   
_Marius: law student_   
_Enjolras: law student_   
_Courfeyrac: ?_   
_Combeferre: pre-med_   
_Joly: pre-med_   
_Bossuet: ?_   
_Musichetta: bartender_   
_Jehan: ?_   
_Bahorel: ?_   
_Feuilly: ?_

_Other:_   
_Jehan goes by they/them, writes poetry_   
_Marius volunteers at least in two centers_   
_Enjolras has been protesting since he was 18_

Deciding she couldn’t take it any further, she gingerly opened her laptop to search information on the remaining question marks. The glare pulsed into her eyes, and she trudged on as she searched up each individual member of the Amis.

Eventually, she pieced together that Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Feuilly were also law students, based on LinkedIn profiles, Twitter, Instagram. Feuilly in particular had been a hard search, but Cosette eventually landed on it when she found a law article written by him eight months ago.

As it would turn out, Bahorel was a boxing teacher in a studio. She wondered briefly if the only other boxer she knew would know him, before being hit with a revelation.

What other buildings surround the Musain? What is the reason why this source goes to Musichetta is because they go to the cafe?

+

On Wednesday, Musichetta was just finishing up the lunchtime rush, clearing up dishes and assigning the staff for dinnertime prep. She eyed her watch impatiently and closely, wondering if today was a no-go.

Then the person she was looking for slipped in and sat on his regular booth seat.

Show time.

She inhaled, and walked over to the man in question. In the past few weeks of serving him consistently, she never said his name aloud, just in case someone overheard and began to ask questions. Only greeted him with the usual, “Good afternoon. What would you like to have?”

He glanced up, his sharp eyes full of clarity, and spoke quietly. “Are there any specials remaining?” _Did they get the last message I sent?_

“There are no more, sir, but I’d be happy to make another dish from the special for you.” _They did. They know._

“Maybe I won’t get them today,” then spoke in the familiar code, “I’d like a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. A side of green beans. A duck confit. And I’d like the wine to be 2005, or 2006, please.”

_Blood. Money. Preserved. Look to the year 2005 or 2006._

She nodded slowly, careful not to show any reaction as she scribbled down the order, “Perfect. Do you want to add a dessert to that for later?” _Is there anything else you need to tell me?_

He shook his head, “Not at the moment. I’ll tell you if I change my mind.” _Not at the moment. Will update soon._

Thirty minutes later, she served the actual dishes (a perfect cover up she devised when they first began these meetings), and placed them carefully in front of him. They looked each other firmly in the eye.

A couple of months ago, she was a little intimidated by him. But eventually, she became used to him. He was never truly terrifying, just stern and precise. They learned to communicate in small nods and eye contact. And his messages were always incredibly short and cryptic. He could never communicate too much in one sitting, and so it was up to her and Enjolras to decipher it in his apartment until late at night. At this point, they both memorized the menu forwards and backwards.

Sometime later, he nodded over to her as a signal to get the bill. She slipped him the paper with the price, and waited as he gave her the precise amount in cash and tip.

“Always good dishes. Have a good day, miss.” He never called her by name, either.

“You as well, sir.”

She glanced down at the bill and froze, looking at the short message on the paper.

_Another one bites the dust. Another one bites the dust. Hey, I’m gonna get you, too._

She snapped her head up, to see if he had turned back to look at her one more time if there was another message. Because this couldn't be it. Not a short scribbled sentence. She needed more explanation, but there was no point. Officer Javert had walked away.

+

“It’s a Queen reference.” She said immediately, once she had sat down with Enjolras in his apartment, “I recognized it immediately. They’re song lyrics.”

“I gathered that much,” He said, frowning over it, “What did you make of his first message?”

“Blood, money, preserved. Look to the year 2005 or 2006. So there needs to be records looked at from 2005 or 2006, obviously.”

“Blood money. Corrupt money? Preserved, so that means they are remaining in one place. Or they’re...just not being moved anywhere. They’re sticking to the same people.”

There was the question of the lyric. They both stared at it, wondering if maybe the way he wrote numbers or wrote his signature had anything else. Javert was cryptic, and brilliantly so: sometimes his messages took days to decipher.

Enjolras sighed, rubbing his temples, “Okay. Let’s review. What do we have so far?”

“We know that the mayor, three of his employees, and the assistants are involved in a scheme of allowing illegal activity. That clicks. Blood money, preserved. This means the operation still has to be continuing.”

“Then he had sent something about another operation. Something to do with the child victims of police brutality. The message had gone along the lines of ‘there’s no accountability for police officers who do that’. So we have two operations, one about brutality and the other about corruption. Maybe they connect?”

“Maybe.”

There was a silence in the air before Enjolras broke it.

“By the way, I thought about it. Combeferre and Courfeyrac should start helping us out, I think. They might know things we don’t. So that will be four of us who know the code, and Marius who also has access to it. But I doubt he can crack it.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Chetta was staring at the receipt with Javert’s thin script, “Maybe they can figure out what the hell this is supposed to me-”

Her mouth dropped, and eyes widened slowly in horror. Her shoulders slumped and tears began to well in her eyes.

“Musichetta?” Enjolras’ brows furrowed, “What is it?”

“The...the receipt. _Another one bites the dust. I’m gonna get you too_...Bites the dust means to die in battle. Going to get you too, as if addressing the reader. It’s a warning. Enjolras, someone in the government is trying to assassinate someone in our group.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next two chapters will be up soon! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette makes a visit to someone, Marius is sent on a mission, and something snaps in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i appreciate your patience, i know a lot of you are waiting for exr to pop in and it will, probably by about this week!

Marius tucked the piece of paper in his bag that he had received from a man who walked by, waving at him discreetly, and in the process, slipped him a piece of paper from his free hand. He had no time to even glance at his face, let alone try to strike up a conversation. 

_ I suppose that’s how they’ve been doing it. _

The paper went directly into his wallet. Sometimes he forgot things, but this? This was the most important thing he has probably ever handled. He walked on towards the direction of another cafe he frequented. He had a decent amount of time before he needed to meet Enjolras at his apartment, deliver the paper, and likely be on his way.

His thoughts wandered to the events on Saturday, thinking about the girl he had halfway lifted towards safety. Marianne.

When he first met her, he thought the earth paused for a moment to let him lock eyes with her. There had just been something that snapped him into that moment. And everything that was running through his mind: the impending protest of the next week, the depressing knowledge of children dying at the hands of police, and perhaps 300 pages of law readings...it all melted away. 

The more he spent time with her, the more he noticed little details. At first, he thought her eyes were simply innocent. Smart enough to handle herself, yet still coming to terms with the bustle of Paris. Her voice soft, and a calming presence that preferred to avoid the spotlight. Like one would expect a country girl to act, perhaps. But after the protest, as he held her up after she hit her head, then watched her from Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s couch, he began to notice something different.

There was a wild look in her eyes that was almost troubling when she’d been knocked to the ground. He couldn’t miss it, even when his eyes were blurry. It was unhinged, full of fear, as if she was being brought back to an experience she once knew. As if there was familiarity to a situation like this. And then, when she’d been sitting down, through the dark shades on her eyes, he noticed something else: calculation.

As if she was trying to figure out the right things to say. As if she was absorbing information and filing it away. She didn’t look stiff, or cold. Just different from what she usually presented.

He had denied it continuously when Combeferre brought up the possibility of her being a double agent. But he couldn’t shake the look she had.

But surely not, right? She just didn’t seem like the type to do it. And Marius sometimes has poor judgment and coordination (he had spilled coffee over his white shirt earlier, if that was any indication). His intuition, however, was spot on.

Suddenly, he stopped walking. There, as if summoned by pure thought, was the woman in question, walking out of an electronics store with a little bag. She still had the shades on, probably to keep the sun from coming into her eyes. He gasped in a breath.

“Hey! Marianne!” 

She glanced up, and her eyes widened slightly before breaking into a smile, walking towards him, “Hello! What brings you here?”

“Just left the shelter, it’s up there,” he gestured vaguely, his brain already feeling fuzzy at the sign of the sunlight playing with her hair, “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

She grimaced a little, “Guilty. But I remembered a couple weeks ago, you said I needed a phone, so I finally got one. Just a little one,” she dug the phone out of her bag and he saw an old-fashioned brick phone, “enough to keep in touch with everyone. Maybe I can get your number?” she said shyly.

“Yeah!” he said a little too enthusiastically, holding out his hand. She unlocked the phone, and held it out to him, and punched the numbers in there, “Text me if you need anything. Where else are you headed?”

“Oh,” her smile faded, “Nowhere important.”

“Alright, I’m headed to another cafe. I’ll see you later.” With a wave, he went to turn.

“Wait. Marius?”

“Yes?” He turned. She was biting her lip, before nodding at him.

“Actually, if you have some spare time, could you come with me?”

+

That morning, Cosette had woken up with a start, head feeling much clearer than the day before. But she didn’t wake up automatically because she was feeling better. No, it was because every year, without fail, her brain seemed to remember it unconsciously.

Concussion or not, she needed to go visit. It was important to her. She rarely went on any other day, just on this one. 

She stumbled out of bed, washed her face, and put on a white dress before heading to the kitchen. She took out a couple pieces of cake that she bought from takeout the night before, set it on the table, and took out two plates, one in front of the opposite chair. Year after year, even when it began to feel silly, she still did it. It was tradition. The only thing that kept her sane, at times.

“I don’t have a candle,” she said to the empty chair, “but this isn’t so bad, right?”

The chair did not respond. She sighed, and opened her mouth.

Quietly, she began to sing:

" _ Joyeux anniversaire, joyeux anniversaire, joyeux anniversaire. Joyeux anniversaire,  _ mama.”

She imagined her mama clapping and smiling before helping herself to a piece of cake, and dug in herself. She’d visit the cemetery later that day, before wandering around the city and head home.

And now, she was staring into the face of Marius Pontmercy (her future victim, as much as she hated thinking that), as she remembered that her mother’s grave was blank. At the time of her death, Cosette didn’t have any money to engrave her name, so she just committed the location to memory. It was just like her other memories of her, just temporary and without a trace to reality.

She didn’t know what was coming over her, but one thing was for sure: the feeling of loss that she was familiar with since Fantine’s death was suddenly unbearable. It had been creating a hole in her stomach since this morning. 

It was crazy to invite a target, but...maybe it would make the mission easier and to crack his facade. Maybe it would help her figure out to make her aim, surely?

“I’m headed to the cemetery. To pay respects to someone. And I don’t know if I want to go alone,” she said slowly, trying to temper down the shaking in her voice, “If you can, do you think maybe you could come with me?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “Of course. What direction are we headed?”

They walked west, not talking much. She was trying to decide how much to tell him, and soon he broke the silence before she could.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?” 

She bit her lip again, trembling slightly. She  _ never _ trembled in front of anyone, not even on the coldest winter night. Not even on her most dangerous mission. But she decided that the truth would not be the worst idea. She wanted to tell the truth. To him. 

“My mom,” she said, making up some lies as she stammered the words out, “she worked in Paris before moving out to where I grew up to return to her parents. I didn’t know my dad. But she loved Paris. Her dying wish was to be buried here. I was young at the time, and so I was upset, but I honored her wish in the end,” she looked away, “I wanted her soul to be happy.”

She forced herself to look at him again, and his gaze was soft that it made her shiver a little more. “I’m sorry,” he said. He raised a hand, but thinking better of it, he drew back, “I can’t imagine how hard it would be.”

Her heart beating just a little faster, she mirrored his action, but decided to go further and place her hand on his shoulder, “Thank you for coming with me.”

The cemetery was just a few feet ahead now, and Marius stopped walking for a bit, “You go ahead, Marianne. I just need to get something.”

She stared at him, unsure of what to make of it. Just seconds ago, he was comforting her, now what was this? She crossed her arms defensively, “Okay.”

He caught on, “Oh no, don’t worry. It’ll take 10 seconds.”

“I’ll count down, then,” she muttered, opening the metal gate and heading in.

She memorized the directions and walked through, eyeing the names on the graves. She envied the ones that commemorated the names and the years of their life. It pained her to let Fantine be buried without so much as an inscription. She wondered if, maybe, she could have that redone. But who else mourned her mother, except her?

She arrived at the grave, and faced it. Some of the graves had flowers, or candles. This one had none, just a grey, concrete slab surrounded by a mound of dry earth. Behind her, she heard the pitter-patter of feet.

Turning, she looked at Marius, and her eye was drawn to a spot of color in his hand. He was holding a long-stemmed white rose.

“Hey, sorry. I just wanted to get this. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Uh…” she still wasn’t sure what he was getting at, “Not at all.”

Satisfied, he placed the rose against the grave, and Cosette’s heart began to beat even faster.  _ Not even I have given mama flowers.  _ It’s not that she refused to. The gesture slipped her mind every year, usually wrapped in the scant memories she had. It seemed like the older she got, the less she remembered, and she was just trying to hold on to what she had. In the process, forgetting to give her mama flowers.

Sometimes, she forgot to keep up with the present.

“Thank you,” her voice was tiny, as she continued to stare at the grave, “That’s very sweet.”

“Of course. Commemorating the dead is important, even if you never knew them.” He stared back at the grave with her, “You commemorate the dead, especially on behalf of their loved ones as they’re mourning. Grief never goes away, you know?”

“No,” she said, “it doesn’t. All these years later and it’s fresher than ever.”

“I’m sorry. Every time someone I loved passed away, it felt like the whole world crashed on me. The worst one was about 5 years ago. Both my parents died in a car crash.”

She faced him, and saw tears slowly forming in his eyes, his glassy gaze fixated on the grave. She was definitely about to cry soon, too, “That’s awful. Marius, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. My grandfather lives in the suburbs. My sister lives with him. I have family around. Though,” he sighed, “I admit that being in the city makes me feel alone. Being without parents still makes me feel untethered, like I’m floating.”

And against her better judgment, she took his hand, and intertwined their fingers. She saw how the corner of lips tilted up in a smile as he faced her. She released a shaky breath she didn’t even realize she held in.

“Well, there’s one good thing that comes from this terrible day.” she said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s that I’m reminded that I’m not alone.”

+

As they walked out of the cemetery, they let go of each other’s hands to put their hands in pockets as the air became cold. The heaviness that clouded Cosette’s chest was lifting, and she found herself grateful that Marius Pontmercy had happened to run into her on one of the hardest days of the year.

“I need to head somewhere now,” he was saying, “But thank you for trusting me with this.”

“Thank you for co-”

Marius’ phone lit up and began to rang in his pocket. He instinctively took it, and said apologetically, “Sorry, I need to take this. Give me a moment.”

She nodded, and he held the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“Funny you ask,” he said, making eye contact with her, “I’m with her right now.”

“Oh?” His shoulders tensed slightly, “Right  _ now?  _ Are you sure?”

“Okay. Okay. Let me ask.” He hung up his phone, and asked nervously, “Listen. You don’t have to say yes, but I was wondering if maybe you’d come with me now to somewhere.”

Her attention span snapped into place, knowing where this was going, “Sure. I’m feeling a lot better. What do you need help with?”

“It’s Enjolras. He needs your help with the source he’s been talking about. He thinks you might be of help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my birthday next friday (the 5th), it would be pretty cool if i got this done, so let's see!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras decides to take a leap of faith, and the rules of secrecy are thrown away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i know i'm posting these chapters in a dump but i'm literally so excited so you'll have to forgive me on this one! hope you like this chapter, and keep hanging on till the end! :)

Enjolras sighed deeply, leaning against the wall, “Are we sure about this?”

Courfeyrac patted his shoulder sympathetically, “It makes sense. And I think she’s stuck around long enough to prove herself.”

Combeferre nodded, from his chair in the dining table, “He’s right. If Marianne were a spy, she would have reported already back, I would think. She already knows that Chetta knows a source, and she wouldn’t have needed to stick around if she went to report it. I think it’s time we trust her. Besides, given this mission that we need to do, she’s our best bet to get it done. The police and government are familiar with all of us, but they don’t know her yet. She’s our best bet for this. We need to trust her.”

“I’m glad we cracked the codes, now. Marius still has a piece of information. Would you two mind cracking it from my bedroom while I brief Marianne?”

“No problem. Could we have a copy of the menu?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras held out a piece of paper, “here. If anything is confusing, call Chetta. She would know.”

The two of them nodded heading to the bedroom. Enjolras called after them.

“Oh also? Don’t fuck on my bed!”

Courfeyrac cackled, “No promises!”

The blond man rolled his eyes, a small affectionate smile taking place.

+

Five minutes later, Marius opened the door to Enjolras’ apartment, and Cosette took an opportunity to look around. It was messy with all kinds of law books, and papers. There were at least three mugs with half-finished coffee. Marius had mentioned on the way, half-jokingly, “It’s like a cave of a ton of information. A little terrifying.” And he wasn’t kidding. She stepped over a stack of notebooks before heading over to the dining room, where the apartment owner sat on a chair.

“Hello, Enjolras,” she gave her countryside girl smile, “You caught me at a good time, I was with Marius at the exact time you called.”

Marius stumbled into the room at the same second, nearly falling back into the table, “Would it kill you to clean up your papers and books now and then?”

The blond man shrugged, “No, but I barely have time to sleep as it is. Where’s the piece of information?”

He reached into his bag, opening his brown wallet, and handed over a small piece of paper to him, “I haven’t looked at it. In case, you know, I saw something I technically wasn’t supposed to see.”

“Thanks.” He reached over, and unfolded the paper. Then, Cosette watched his eyes widen, bigger than dinner plates, and stand abruptly to call out, “Courf! Combeferre! Come out, now!”

Cosette turned to Marius, face full of questions, and he shrugged in return.

The two men in question walked out, “What is it?” Courfeyrac asked, “Is something wrong?”

“The piece of information Marius had...it’s not in code. It’s written in plain English. We need to read it, now.”

They all leaned around the table, Enjolras now taking a seat. He began to read:

_ To the members of Amis, _

_ I ask you to burn this as soon as you receive it. We cannot risk anything. There are eyes everywhere.  _

_ I decided to not write in code for this message, given that I am giving this to a new person, and not Musichetta. But there is another reason: you must hurry if you are to organize a rally. The information I have been receiving is becoming too much for me to handle. _

_ So let me summarize everything that I know: the government has been receiving blood money over the past decade or so from an international drug ring. The drug ring originated in the United States in 2005, and is now infiltrating Europe. They mostly sell cocaine, heroin, and opioids. The drug ring sells these drugs around the city, and part of the money goes into government pockets. The ones mainly part of this is the mayor of Paris, his two assistants, the police chief, and the budget management officer. I have also recently found that three public security prefects are also part of the scheme. _

_ Here is where it gets horrifying: most of the drug exchanges between dealers and the drug ring take place in the 10th district of Gare du Nord, the 19th, and the 20th district of the Saint Blaise neighborhood, as well as a few more. If you superimpose the maps, you will notice that a majority of child victims from police brutality come from those areas. This is not an accident. They are victims because they either accidentally witnessed exchanges, or are children of those who purchased drugs who did not pay their due amount on time. The police are allowing children to die from things they cannot control. It’s essentially mass murder, because there are more children that have died than those that have been reported. _

_ The government’s next move is to use the drug ring to their advantage. They plan to arrest anyone found with the drugs under the guise that those with drugs pose a threat to society. The mayor, police chief, prefects, and budget management officer are doing this to increase their chances of getting elected. They have at least 75 people from the poorest parts of Paris they plan on arresting. They will leave children without parents and fill the jails up. So not only are these people allowing the drug ring to infiltrate the city, but they are also using it to their advantage. _

_ I am not sure if I will learn more in the future. But I understand you will need proof to prove this right. I am trying to obtain that information. Stand by for more information. I will have to go to the Musain to communicate further instructions. _

_ I warn all of you to stay safe. I am hearing rumors that they have hired someone to kill one of your members if you continue to make trouble. I do not know who. But watch over your backs. _

_ With regards, _

_ Source _

Cosette stood in place, ashen, and shaken.  _ Hired someone to kill one of your members.  _ Now the Amis know that someone has been sent to kill. They could use that against her if they found her suspicious. Her facade would be ruined. They’d have someone arrest her. Around her, almost everyone’s faces matched hers.

Enjolras was the only one who hadn’t flinched, just quietly folding the letter again, “I will write these all down in a notebook then burn the note. But as of now, we need to change gears. We might need to pull out of our protest two weeks from now. We need to change meeting locations, now. Who has the biggest apartment out of all of us?”

Combeferre spoke up, “Joly, Bossuet, and Chetta. They have enough room to fit all of us.”

“Good. I see Bossuet tomorrow for class. I’ll approach him and ask. Avoid texting anyone in our group unless it’s for class-related things. We know someone is watching us. Whoever this...assassin is, we need to keep an eye out.”

“What about group recruitment?” Courfeyrac asked. His hands were locked together, and Cosette noticed that his labored breathing, “We’ve been building up to recruit more people for our group for months. Stopping now would be a bad idea.”

“We’ll have general interest meetings at the Musain then,” Enjolras put his chin in his hand, “We meet twice a week, now. Once in the apartment, once in the Musain. We won’t discuss anything confidential at general interest meetings. Only about what we do, who we work with…”

“Enjolras,” Marius asked, “Whoever is tasked to kill us, they will probably take every opportunity to get at it when they need to. If we meet any time in the Musain, it’ll be a good opportunity to do it.”

Cosette begrudgingly agreed in her head. It was true, she would have done it, had she not gone undercover for these past few weeks. There was no point now in encouraging them to meet at the Musain: that would be reckless, and hint at them that she was encouraging them to be in public. Suspicion would ruin her.

“Well,” she piped up, “What if only one or two people in our group heads to the Musain to do the meetings? And they last an hour, right? If half an hour passes, and no one is there, then they can leave early.”

“That’s,” Enjolras looked at her intently, “That’s smart, actually. Good thinking. We’ll reconvene on that tomorrow. Figure out logistics. But now, I need to talk to you about why I asked you to come tonight, Marianne.”

She nodded slightly, “Anything to do to help the cause.”

_ Or fuck it over,  _ she thought of her actual mission bitterly.

“So,” he pulled out a piece of paper, and she recognized it as a map, “The source says that he will be sending in more information. I’ve known that for a while, since he started passing on information. The problem is, he is fairly recognizable, especially if someone from the government or police happens to be there at the wrong place at the wrong time. No one among us can be the one to collect info. Everyone recognizes us.”

“I think if Enjolras so much showed his face to a police officer, he’d get arrested for breathing,” Courfeyrac said, trying to joke lightly, his ashen face beginning to regain its color.

“Probably. In any case, you would be our best option to gather this information. And when we get this, we can organize a rally and hold these criminals accountable for taking away lives. What do you think?” He said, “Is this something you would accept?”

Cosette nodded firmly, “Yes. Where do I go from here?”

+

As she shut the door of the taxi, heading upwards to her apartment, she rubbed her temples. It was nearly midnight. They’d spent a good chunk of time mapping out buildings, how the source was connected to them. The whole time, they managed to keep the source’s name from her.  _ It’s really impressive how they hold information. _

Opening her apartment door, she kicked off her shoes, threw her coat down, and laid in bed, still with her dress on. The heaviness that left her gut earlier that day was coming back. The numbers swirled in her head.  _ 70 children are dead. There are more that haven’t been reported 75 people are about to be arrested for a crime that the government endorsed. _

_ A man who has been defending animals and children for years will be shot. By me. _

Why was she feeling guilty? What was the point of feeling guilty?

How many people had she killed over the years? More than 50. She’d been in this business since she was 12. As she grew from being a child to a teenager, she took advantage of her youth, tricking people into thinking she was too young to be a threat. She was good at what she did. She’s killed in cold blood, and she’s done it enough to not feel guilty. Guilt was not in her conscience. If it was, it was long dead and ceased to exist.

And this time, over a group of law school boys, she was threatening their lives and their cause. There were tinges of guilt pulsing through her veins.

She turned over to stare at the wall, and she admitted deep inside:  _ They’re doing the right thing. _

_ I could have been one of those children that died on the street. _

Her mama had been part of this hitman business, once upon a time. She did it for twelve years before she died. And whenever she was out on a mission, Cosette would go on the streets, begging for spare change, because there never seemed to be enough money to pay for food. And as she watched the people of Paris turn their backs on her, she learned to turn her back on them. So when she signed on, she didn’t care about killing. It was her against the world.

She only had one rule in all the twelve years: to never kill a child. The Planner knew this, and he carefully kept her away from any mission involving children. And while she did not view herself as the most empathetic person, she took care to always leave extra cash to give to children that were hungry on the streets.

That night, she tossed and turned, unable to get the pictures of the children from the leaflet Marius had given her. She kept it on her desk, studying their faces, and the innocence in their expressions left a mark on her thoughts. Questions began storming her mind continuously.

What then, if she finished her mission? Killed Marius? Would that warn off the Amis from bringing the information to national attention? Or would nothing stop them? And if children kept dying even as the Amis tried to protest, she’d have blood on her hands. Lives that barely passed their teenage years.

And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to kill Marius in the first place.

Every mission she had ever been sent in, she had no regrets pulling the trigger. They were often cruel, probably deserving of death. There was that old woman who ordered the death of her husband after she found out that he had a secret family, and intended to leave most of his estate to them. She didn’t mind that so much. There was a group of employees at an oil company who requested their manager to be shot because he was having them work in abusive conditions, and nothing else would be done.

This time, it was different. She wasn’t sure if she could continue on with a target who had done nothing wrong, and worked to protect children. Maybe he would have protected her, in another life. She couldn’t get rid of his worried face as he picked her up from the street after she hit her head on the pavement a few weeks ago.

At midnight, still staring at the ceiling, she made a decision.

_ I won’t tell the Planner anything yet. I need to see what else is out there. _

_ As long as he doesn’t summon me to make the hit yet, I’ll keep this secret. I hope it's worth it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these next few chapter are my favorite, i believe. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette is sent on a brief mission, she makes a decision, and the rest of the Amis find out that someone wants one of them dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cosette is really beginning to second guess everything here, and is beginning to realize that maybe, this mission is not worth doing.

Two days later, it was Sunday, and Cosette received a text from Marius:

_ Enjolras is asking you to come to his apartment tonight. Are you available? _

She texts back:  _ I am, could you send me the address again, just in case? _

Now, she was staring at her oatmeal, thinking to herself:  _ I don’t have much to do. What do I do? _ An idea came to her, and she decided to quickly walk to her location. The sooner she arrived, the clearer she would be able to think.

Lucky for her, the destination was only at a 15 minute walk, and when she arrived, she took a moment to admire the sign that never changed:  _ Isabel Park.  _ She hadn’t been here in a long time. Was her favorite bench still here?

Yes, it was. She broke into a smile as she approached it, in all its olden, golden brown glory. During holidays, her mother would manage to scrape food together, thanks to some help (“Look what the Planner got us!”), and they’d eat here while watching the sunset. During hopeful times, it was a lifeline of a moment. Counting down to the holidays helped them get through the hardest parts of the year.

She sat on the bench, and patted it. She inhaled, and exhaled. Then, turning to the empty side of the bench, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot, she began to speak at a lower volume.

“Mama, I don’t know what to do. This is the first time I haven’t been sure if I want to continue on a mission.”

The bench remained silent, but she kept going.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been assigned to kill a good person before. He’s a good person, Marius is. The rest of the group are good people.”

She could imagine her mom smiling teasingly, in that familiar voice,  _ “Are you just saying that because you have a crush on him?” _

She turned red at the memory of yesterday, “I don’t know if I do. I’ve never dated anyone. I don’t know what it feels like. You know that.”

The image of mama in her head stopped smiling, and nodded sadly.

“All I know is that these are good people. And if I kill one of them, then I’d be holding back a good cause. I know I have blood on my hands, but I always thought that because it was evil people, that it wasn’t so bad. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Cosette turned to watch the sun shine over a pair of children playing frisbee, calling out to each other to catch, “But I need this money. It’s important for me to get it. After this mission, and maybe one more, I can finish paying debts off, and I can live independently. Maybe I can move to another city, start a new life. Maybe I can finally go to college. I won’t have to live in fear.”

In her head, Fantine was saying,  _ “Deep down, you have always been a good person, even when you began using a gun. You didn’t want to sign on to the job, remember? It scared you. You cried until the Planner sat you down and helped you consider the choice. You didn’t want to hurt people.” _

_ “But Cosette, you had to because you had no other choice. It was kill or die. And no one would fault you for that. And I’d tell you to go with your gut, even if it pains you to do so. Whether you choose one or the other, I’ll understand.” _

She trained her eyes on the playing children, taking a deep breath, “I think I’ve almost made my choice.”

+

Cosette made her way across the city to the apartment building, pressing the elevator button and heading out the third floor. She spotted apartment E, and knocked. Enjolras opened the door, a pencil stuck in his hair and dark circles pronounced under his eyes, “Hey, thanks for coming. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

He shut the door behind her, and immediately she half-exclaimed, “What on earth happened here?!”

He waved it off noncommittally, “I ordered some food and I spilled it on the ground. I’ll clean it up later. I know it’s gross, sorry I didn’t warn you.”

She sighed, “It’s fine, as long as we don’t sit near it.”

They walked over to the dining area and sat on the chairs. An uneasy silence settled among them, as Cosette realized that this was really the first time she had ever been with one of the most wanted men in the government, alone in his dining table.

“I know that I might have not given off the best first impression, so I apologize,” he started, pulling the pencil out of his hair, “Combeferre and Courfeyrac are better with welcoming people in the group. They tell me I’m too intense. And the whole not-trusting-you business, I hope you understand why that was the case for a while.”

_ He really reminds me of... _ she cut off her train of thought and said, “It’s okay. Marius told me to not hold it against you. You’re doing all you can.”

“Thank you. Now, for the information acceptance. The man sent a message through Chetta. Here’s what they want you to do.”

He pulled out his map again, and pointed at a certain street, “This is the location of one of the biggest public libraries in the city. Easy to blend in. He will be there an hour early, and will be wearing this exact outfit: a blue dress shirt, a green vest, black slacks, and sunglasses. In case, for whatever reason, there is someone who looks like him, check if he has a black backpack.”

“I can’t know his name?”

“No, unfortunately,” he said grimly, “As it is, this man’s life could be in danger. If his boss finds out what’s going on, he might be dead,” her blood felt ice-cold under her skin, “So don’t ask his name. Just sit next to him. You are to bring a folder, and just put some empty papers on it. Place it on the table, and slide it next to him. He will do the same with a folder, and slide it to your side, and you’ll switch. Slip it in your backpack. Stay for a few minutes to not be suspicious, then leave.”

“When do I do this?”

“Tomorrow. At 1 in the afternoon.”

“Already?”

“I’m sorry it’s so soon. And when you finish, you’ll have to head back here with the information so we can discuss it with the others. Are you able to do it?”

Carefully, she nodded, “At this point, I don’t want to say no.”

+

The library was beautiful, wide, with windows welcoming natural light. The library was half-full, mostly with students and other professionals reading and writing. Cosette walked her way down the hall, watching closely at the outfits. 

And there, he spotted him: almost at the end of the hall, writing on a piece of paper. She carefully sat down next to him, not making eye contact so as to not seem awkward. Slowly, she pulled a folder with empty papers out of her backpack, and he eyed her.

He pulled out a folder, too, this time packed with information and sticky notes. Without speaking, they exchanged folders, and Cosette put the new information in the folder. She couldn’t see his face, even if she tried, so there was no point trying to solve his identity.

“Stay safe.” He said shortly, standing up from his chair.

“You too, sir.” She replied, watching him leave.

+

“I can’t believe this is all happening and the press isn’t reporting it.” Feuilly said.

Everyone crowded in Enjolras one-bedroom, still recovering from the depth of information they had just received. Cosette herself felt sick, like she was going to puke. Not only was there proof of government officials encouraging drug distribution, but they themselves were purchasing it and using the drugs in their own offices.

“This is unbelievable,” Chetta’s face was in her hands, “so the government is letting these kids die because they would rather hurt innocent people caught in the middle than change where these drugs are supposed to be exchanged, which is illegal in the first place.”

“We need to start organizing.” Combeferre was staring out the window, “If we want to get a move on before the assassin closes in.”

“Wait,” Bahorel’s deep voice cut in, “assassin?”

“Oh, shit.” Courfeyrac shut his eyes, “We forgot to tell you. Part of the source’s message was that someone is being sent to kill someone in our group.”

“Fantastic,” Feuilly said sarcastically, “We might as well all go into hiding.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras waved his hand in dismissal, “It’s probably me they want to kill. The rest of you don’t worry.”

_ That’s what they want you to think,  _ Cosette thought.

“What do we do? We definitely need to organize this,” Jehan said from the floor, their legs crossed and a book in their lap, “But like Combeferre said earlier, we can’t meet at the Musain to discuss this.”

“We’re meeting at our place,” Joly said, “So we don’t have to worry about anyone aiming and firing.”

“Yeah, about that…” Courfeyrac said with hesitation.

“What?” Bossuet’s face was stricken, “What’s wrong?”

“We’re supposed to have general interest meetings this week,” Combeferre pointed out, “Our original plan was to only have one or two people run the meetings per week, if anyone appeared at all. But we realized that we can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Marius asked, finally breaking from his silence this entire time.

“Because we don’t want to show new members that we’re a bit of a disinterested group by being basically empty. And I don’t think the assassin will strike now,” Enjolras said, sticking a pencil into his hair, “There’s no reason to. No one knows about the information we have. I think we need to feel it out, see where things are, and recruit new members.”

“Still,” Combeferre admonished, glaring slightly at Enjolras, “We can’t be too careful. So we made a schedule rotating everyone at the meeting. Next week, Marius, Enjolras, myself, and Courfeyrac will be there, the rest of you aren’t required.”

“Aren’t you three the biggest targets though?” Feuilly pointed out.

“Yes. That’s why we’re going to try to see. If no one makes a move on us three, then we’re likely in the clear. It’s not an ideal situation, and we’re all a little scared. But we can’t let the government intimidate us.”

People around them nodded. And Cosette couldn’t help herself, but nod along.

Courfeyrac looked over them, his usual joy replaced with solemnity, “We can’t let  _ anyone  _ intimidate us.”

+

She couldn’t sleep again that night, as all the information continued to boil in her head. As if she needed anymore reason to go against what she was assigned to do. As if she needed any more reason to feel guilt. As if she needed any more reason to look in the mirror and think,  _ murderer. _

She pulled out a bag of chips, ripped it open, and began to chomp angrily. This wasn’t fair. Why did her moral consciousness show itself  _ now,  _ during a mission that could free her from this shit job in the first place?

She wandered around her studio apartment, examining the little artifacts in her room. There was no one she could turn to, at this point, to help her. Her visions of her mama wouldn’t help. There was no way in hell that the Planner would endorse this.

Then she stopped at her desk, where the lamp was still switched on. Something caught her eye: a sketch, one that was at least 4 years old, of the only two people in the world who had held their arms out for her when she needed it. It was remarkably skilled for a pencil sketch, getting every detail right. 

There was a little note on the bottom:  _ we love you! _

Her heart thudded in her chest.

_ I cannot believe what I’m about to do. _

_ But I need back-up. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter we finally see the two people we've been waiting for, and they need no introduction! thanks for sticking with this, if you've made it this far. it really means a lot. i haven't been writing fanfiction in literal years, so doing this (along with my previous fics) have been really refreshing for me outside school and work. have a good upcoming weekend!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people from Cosette's past make a reappearance, and are roped into helping her out in this ditched mission. Very reluctantly, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> about DAMN time we heard from two of my favorite characters. hope you enjoyed their introduction like i did!

Cosette rapped the door on apartment 5E in a building miles away from her own apartment. She did not venture on this side of town very often. Not because she had a particular reason, but more so because it was dangerous for her to be here. It was breaking a rule. So it took a lot of courage and debate to arrive here.

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice responded.

“You’ll know who when you open the door...it’s me.”

The door cracked open, and Cosette felt her heart soar. The woman was a little older since they last saw each other, nearly four years ago now. Her black hair was tied up in a bun with an undercut highlighted her sharp cheekbones, and her skin had more tattoos than previously, including one of a bird on her upper arm. As she took in the sight outside her door, her eyes widened like dinner plates.

“No fucking way. Cosette?”

Her voice wavered. It had been  _ so long,  _ “Hello, Eponine.”

The other woman squealed and pulled Cosette into a hug into the apartment before swinging her around. “My god! It’s been so long! I missed you so goddamn much.”

“You have no idea how much I missed you too. Four years, right?”

“Yes.” Eponine set her down, eyes crinkled in delight, “Would you like a cup of tea? Or have you finally started drinking like the rest of us mortals?”

She chuckled, “I’ll take a glass of white wine if you have any.”

Her friend hummed in agreement and went into her kitchen, while Cosette took in the surroundings. In the four years she had not seen her friend, there were small indications that she had moved on to different things. There was an apron bearing the words  _ Starbucks _ , and a work uniform hung behind it.. There was a pile of books on the side table near the couch, with the top book labeled  _ The Foundations of Social Work.  _ Behind the books was a picture frame, featuring Eponine with a teenage boy.  _ Gavroche,  _ she remembered, from the few times she babysat for her friend while Ep was out on a mission. He looked grown up.

“Sauvignon blanc!” Eponine sang, setting a glass on the table, “Come sit. It’s comfier that way.”

“Of course. Please, tell me, what’s up with you? This apartment has changed plenty since I was last here.”

“Well, as you can tell, I work part-time at Starbucks,” she gestured at the books, “I go by a different name there. And I’m back in college to study social work. After years and years of fighting my parents to give me custody of Gavroche, I realized that kids need to find ways to protect themselves.”

“Where is Gavroche now, anyways?” She sipped the wine, and remembered why she hated alcohol.

“Studying in London. He got a full ride to uni, and he’s studying political science.”

“That’s amazing. He’s always been such a bright kid.”

“Indeed.” Eponine’s smile faltered a bit, “Look, Cosette. You have no idea how happy I am to see you, but are you still working for-”

The blonde woman looked down at her glass, “I am.”

“Then why are you here? Isn’t this dangerous for you?”

“I came to ask you for help. I was sent on a mission, but I want to drop out. I can’t do it.”

Cosette explained the whole thing, starting from her original intent to kill Marius Pontmercy, to obtaining information from the Amis, to her realization that they needed to be protected and helped, not kicked around. How she realized that she needed to rise to the occasion and start defending others, not killing people with important intentions that could save lives. The information she knew, how the government was allowing police to accept bribe money from a crime ring, and in the process, kill children that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Eponine listened intently, the glass of wine in her hands long forgotten. And then, she took a small sip before asking, “Why are you here to see me, then?”

“I wanted to ask if you could help me protect these men.”

She did not miss the way her friend’s jaw tightened, anger already flaring in her eyes. But Cosette knew it was not targeted towards her. Not when she knew her story, the pain she faced when they were growing up.

Finally, her friend sighed, “Did I ever tell you why I quit?”

“You said it was because you broke your legs on your last mission, and so you decided to step down to heal.”

Eponine nodded, “That was part of the reason. It’s not the whole story.”

Cosette looked at her questioningly, and the dark-haired woman sighed.

“My last job, I did fine. I was supposed to kill a millionaire's cousin because he had been caught embezzling family money. I was also supposed to steal one of his watches, worth thousands. I did that, too. But there was one important detail I missed: I took the wrong watch.”

She took one shaky sigh, “It wasn’t the biggest deal. Even the Planner agreed. But the contractor was so angry, he got two of his cronies to break my legs. And then they stalked Gavroche after school until I finally begged the Planner to intervene. I realized if I kept doing this job, it might be the end of my life. More importantly, Gavroche’s life. Cosette, I love you, and I would do anything for you. But not this. I can’t put myself through that again.”

Cosette’s eyes were filled with tears. She remembered when she was there when Eponine was sent to the hospital, and spent days by her side until the Planner threatened to kick her out because of the safety risks. After that, she never saw her friend again. Now, she reached out to hold her hand.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. Of course you didn’t. We had to keep it secret. For Gav’s sake.”

Silence hung in the air briefly.

Eponine smiled a little bit, “Do you remember when we were, like 15, and we finished a double mission on those two socialites that had been scamming banks in the city?”

“Of course,” Cosette said, “And we stole their pocket money after we finished the job, and we used it to buy ourselves a ginormous meal. And groceries! We were able to make meals for two weeks.”

Eponine laughed now, “And we bought ourselves gifts! I bought those cute boots and you bought that small blender. I still have the boots in my closet. You know, we had the shittiest of childhoods. But if there’s anything I can promise, it’s that you were one of the few shining stars of that time in my life.”

Cosette reached her hand out to squeeze her friend’s hand, “There hasn’t been a day where I didn’t think of you after you left. And I feel awful for asking you to do this. I would have never asked you this under any other circumstance. It’s just that…”

“Just what?”

“Learning everything these past few weeks. About those kids who were killed for something that wasn’t their fault. It just reminded me of us. How we used to scrape by with nothing. I know that I’m no stranger to murder, but I can’t shake the thought of kids being killed because I hurt those who wanted to advocate for them. Ep, if I can promise you that nothing will happen, that you will only have to go into a few meetings and keep watch...would that make you reconsider?”

“I don’t know. People can still recognize me. Break my legs again.” She placed her cheek in her hand.

“I’ll disguise you. I’ll even plan escape possibilities for you. I don’t need you to jump and protect anyone, I just need you to keep watch over these dumb boys and let me know if there’s anyone who looks suspicious.”

Another silence.

“Is it just me you’re asking?” Eponine asked at last.

“No, I was planning on asking...well.”

She barked a laugh, chin tipped towards the ceiling as her head tilted, “Oh, man. Him? If getting me to do it is pulling teeth, he’ll be straight up impossible. He’d do anything for you, too, ‘Sette. But to ask him of this? I worry he’ll spiral again.”

Cosette finally stood up. “I can’t do this alone, Eponine. The Planner has said that the contractor will not hesitate to increase the job to killing all 8 of them. What they’re doing is important, too. They’re exposing corruption in the local government. Consider if you can, okay?”

Her friend stared at her, with the intensity she used to have when committing a job. She and Cosette had been through everything together: puberty, joint jobs, panic attacks. There wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do for the other. They both knew it. Even if she turned this down, Ep would do anything in her power to protect her.

“Come back tomorrow night. I’ll make a decision.”

Cosette breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

“And ‘Sette?”

“Yeah?”

Eponine stood up and began to show her towards the door, “If you do manage to see him, tell him I say hi. I missed him too.”

+

Second round. 

She rang the doorbell, and waited before the doorknob slowly turned and opened a crack. A small gasp on the other side, and it opened further. A man with a head of thick, dark curls with a beard stared at her before breaking into a roguish smile.

“Cosette Fauchelevent, while I live and breathe.”

She exhaled, the beginnings of a beam playing at her lips, “Grantaire. It’s been so long!”

“Come in, come in.” He ushered, and she entered. In contrast to Eponine’s changed apartment, Grantaire’s remained the same. Art products laid all over the ground, and there were new and painted canvases set up. He had the talent for art, she remembered. He was the one who had given her the sketch on her desk.

He leaned in and gave her a bear hug, lifting her slightly from the ground, and she squealed as he said, “It feels like I’ve been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past, but in a good way. Would you like some water? Or biscuits?”

“Actually,” she said, “Biscuits are good. I’m hungry.”

He bowed, “Your wish is my command.” before turning to set up at the kitchen behind him.

She glanced around again. There was a picture of Grantaire, Eponine, and herself from their teenage years, which prompted her to smile. They’d all been recruited together in their teenage years, and they were inseparable from the day they all walked into the Planner’s office, eyeing each other cautiously. They had long been best friends until they were forced to cut communication for safety reasons. They could never be found together after finishing their jobs. But here she was now, breaking that rule in half.

Her eyes wandered around to another small table, where there was a giant bottle of whiskey, almost finished. Her smile turned into a frown, and worry instantly began to flutter in her stomach.

“Biscuits!” Grantaire sang as he entered the room. He had always been a softie, despite how his giant build said otherwise.

That was another difference between them, Cosette thought. She was light, lithe, better with a gun than physical fighting. Eponine was somewhere in-between, but she was all brains, able to trick someone into falling into their own death. Grantaire was strong, almost intimidating, and the best at physical attack.

She wondered when they all no longer viewed assassination with fear, simply as a job.

“What brings you here? What is so pressing that you broke the Planner’s wishes and walked through my apartment building?” He gasped, “Are you getting married?”

She tutted, “First of all, I would like to hear what you are up to. I haven’t spoken to you in nearly four years since you left!”

He thought for a few moments, and said, “Same as always. I paint for commissions now, under a pseudonym, you know, for safety. In the mornings, I teach young ‘uns to draw and paint. I’m lucky that a kindergarten school let in a drunkard like me. Though I  _ did _ put my best foot forward and didn’t show that.”

Cosette slowly said, after some hesitation, “I saw the whiskey bottle. Are you still…”

“No,” he said firmly, “I drink less now. I don’t want to set a bad example for the kids, they deserve better than that. But it’s been an uphill battle. I still black out on the weekends,” he tore his eyes away from her, “you know. It’s been difficult. I get nightmares every night.”

She exhaled, and reached out to squeeze his hand, “I get nightmares, too. And unfortunately, I still work for them.”

He shook his head sadly, “Cosette, you should consider leaving. Staying longer will fuck you up.”

“I know,” she mumbled, “But the pay was why I stuck around. I still have debts to work off. Mama’s debts from the hospital before she died. I’m waiting to finish, and then get enough to be able to live comfortably for a few years, then get out.”

“Okay.” Grantaire studied her, “So why are you here?”

“I’ve come to ask for help. For a mission.”

He stared at her, then put the glass of water in his hand down firmly on the floor before he said, “No.”

“Please hear me out.”

“I will, because I love you like a sister and I’m concerned for you, but you must know, I will not say yes regardless.”

“Okay. I was commissioned to kill a member of a revolutionary group called the Les Amis.”

He nodded, “I know of them. Bunch of law school kids trying to fuck up the government, right?”

“Yes. I was asked to kill one particular guy to serve as a threat to the others, and also to spy on them and obtain more information. But I got to know them. And I realized the information they held, and how government and police officials are corrupt as hell. Things that even me, considering my background, makes me shudder.”

“So you’re defecting.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I couldn’t take it anymore. They don’t deserve to die. And the reason why I came to you was because I just needed someone to back me up and serve to keep an eye on them. I’ll do the dirty work of investigating who exactly asked for the hit. But I need someone to make sure that no foul play from whoever commissioned me.”

“So no actual killing from me, if I were to do this.”

“That’s right.”

“Have you asked Eponine?”

“I did. She said she’d think about it. She doesn’t want to do this anymore than you do, either.”

“I figured. What if she does agree, and she gets her legs broken again for joining? Or worse?” His eyes were drawn to his glass of water.

“I thought about that,” she countered, “But I’ve thought of a few ways to create protection for you both. Assumed names. Different clothing. Hell, I’ll get a bulletproof vest if I need to.”

“You have access to that?” He took a double take.

“The Planner upgraded materials since you left. I have a vest in my apartment.”

He whistled low.

“So, yes. That’s what I wanted to ask.”

He sighed, “Okay. It’s a worthy endeavor. It is. The risks for me, however, are too much. I’m scared I’ll fall into a pit of depression again, if I were even to survive. I spent so many years watching over my shoulder. I’ve had my stomach pumped for alcohol abuse. To do all of this again...even at a lower risk. Cosette, I’m sorry.”

“I understand. You know, I was about to pull another card to try to convince you.”

“What was that?”

She smirked, “There are plenty of cute boys there. One that is exactly your type.”

He put a hand over his heart, “Miss Fauchelevent, in as much as I am a sucker for a handsome man, I will not spread my legs for just about anyone especially if it threatens my life!”

She laughed, “It was good to see you, even if the circumstances are unfortunate.” She went to stand up. Staying longer than necessary here would be a risk, “I should probably get going.”

She turned but felt a hand hold her back. Grantaire looked at her with downcast eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this. I really can’t. But I think I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Cosette, I cannot state enough how I’ve worried about you since I left. With me gone, and Eponine gone, we knew no one would be around to check in on you. And now that you’re here, with a mission that could kill you more than ever, it would weigh on my consciousness if I let you do this without trying to protect you.”

Her eyes filled up with tears, just a little, “You big softie.”

“What can I say? You and Eponine were all I had for years. Being cut away from the both of you left me untethered and so alone, and if it weren’t for my job, I’d be dead.”

“Thank you. Thank you. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Right. Right. Now,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes, “how do we go about protecting these spoiled boys?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love grantaire and eponine so much, it was so hard to withhold myself from writing them earlier into the story. but now they'll be important!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine and Grantaire join the operation, Cosette begins to straighten things out, and Enjolras feels like he's been struck by lightning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> need to catch up writing the other chapters before i post the rest. but enjoy this lil one! :)

The next night, Cosette met with Eponine and Grantaire in front of a restaurant blocks from the Musain. After pulling more teeth (and telling Eponine of managing to convince Grantaire), they were begrudgingly onboard. Each with assumed names (Lisette for Eponine, Pierre for Grantaire), and clothes that would not cast any immediate suspicion.

“Just remember. These are law school kids. Act interested in their cause, converse with them. And keep on the lookout for anything strange. Tonight, there’s only four people around. Lucky for us, it’s the four that we have to watch out for, because they’re the biggest targets.”

“Alright,” Grantaire said, “Could you introduce us to them?”

“Definitely. The meeting lasts for an hour, might be less. Eponine, I’d like for you to subtly follow Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They live together, attached to the hip. Grantaire, you follow Enjolras. Those are the most important three. I will follow Marius.”

“Game. Let’s do this.”

The Musain was bright with lights, and Eponine’s and Grantaire’s expressions were muted, but alight with keen observation. Cosette immediately noticed Marius look up from writing in his notebook, and eyes widened slightly. She fought back a real, genuine smile.

“Hello, Marianne!” Marius waved cheerfully, waving them over, “You’ve brought friends!”

She put on her bashful countryside-girl expression, “I did, Marius, I met them while chatting in another cafe. This is Lisette,” Eponine waved and said hello, “And this is Pierre.”

On her right, Grantaire said nothing. And slightly confused, she turned to him to tap him on the shoulder when she realized what was happening. 

Grantaire’s mouth was ajar, eyes burning with a feverish intensity, staring off somewhere ahead. His breathing was slow, and his cheeks were slowly reddening. It didn’t take long for Cosette to realize where he was staring. Because Enjolras was staring back, mirroring the other man’s emotions. His cheeks were also red, matching his suit jacket, mouth slightly open. He seemed frozen in place. His own breathing was stuttering.

Eponine weaved through Cosette and elbowed Grantaire, “Keep it in your pants, Pierre.”

That seemed to shake him out of his stare and face Marius, “Sorry. Nice to meet you.” His eyes were still darting to where Enjolras was now taking a seat, and anyone could see that the blond man was looking back to capture glances. Combeferre cleared his throat off at the side, and everyone rushed to take a seat as he began to greet everyone.

Cosette leaned in to whisper in Grantaire’s ear as they sat, “I told you he was your type.”

He inhaled sharply, “That’s an understatement. That man is a reincarnation of a god.”

Enjolras took one long look at Grantaire and inhaled before starting out with, “I see we have two new people tonight. Welcome.”

Their eyes wouldn’t leave the other, and Enjolras finally had to look away, “Thank you for coming. We’re going to tell you what we’re about, and some things we’ve been working on.”

+

Thank god Courfeyrac had somehow read his mind and offered to take over talking about their causes. There were perks to knowing your best friend for nearly 10 years. All Courf had to do was stand up from his chair and interrupt with a loud, “And that’s my job! You go ahead and sit, E. I know you’ve been working on law school papers all day. Injustice never rests, you know?” he smiled at their guests. 

Enjolras nodded gratefully and took a seat at the table, opening his notebook under the guise of doing something productive, like maybe take notes about their guests. Especially about the guy. Pierre, was his name? It doesn’t hurt to know information about new people. Yes, of course.

“Introduce yourselves!”

The dark-haired girl waves at the small crowd in the room, “Hi, I’m Lisette. I heard about this through Marianne when we met at another coffee shop. I, uh, work at a small community center for elderly folk.”

“And what has sweet Marianne told you about us?” Courf smiles widely, “She’s easily the most innocent of all of us, I wonder how she convinced you.”

Lisette’s face falls, “She told me about the children who died,” she said quietly, “I have a younger brother and it would haunt me forever if that happened to him. So I came.”

“I see,” Courfeyrac said, much more sobered, “and how about your other friend, here?”

Enjolras trained his eyes on the man seated next to Lisette, and unconsciously swallowed when he heard his rough, raspy voice, “My name is Pierre. I work with Lisette and met Marianne at a coffee shop. I became convinced because of the news, too. I had watched it a bit on TV, but it was different hearing about it from another person.”

He takes a moment to just look at Pierre. He is nearly as tall as himself, maybe just half a head taller. His hair is curly, and fluffy, but is cut short on the sides, and it highlights sharp cheekbones. His build is strong, with just a bit of softness in the middle. Brown eyes, ones that are sharp and alert even from 10 feet away. Wearing a black sweater over jeans, an outfit so casual and yet is driving him nuts.

He is  _ very, very  _ attractive and it takes all of his willpower to not sit beside him and ask him about who he is, what’s his story, what he’s passionate about.

“Thank you for coming in today!” Courfeyrac was saying, launching into a talk about how and why their group was formed, though he doesn’t really register what’s being said because he’s too busy thinking about how ridiculous Pierre’s face is, until Combeferre pats his shoulder and says sympathetically, “You look like you’ve been struck by lightning.”

Enjolras shakes his head and tears his eyes away just as Pierre shifts his eyes to meet his, “I’m okay. I promise.”

+

Eponine wasn’t lying when she said that she was thinking of Gavroche when Cosette first explained the whole mission to her. After her friend had left, she spent an hour staring at the ceiling, thinking of the past 24 years of her life. 

First, there was the fact that at 11, she had taken five-year-old Gavroche and just walked out of their family home when their parents were too drunk to notice. It was long overdue: at that point, the bruises on her skin were too many to count, and Gav was just healing from a black eye. Her parents, no doubt, were pieces-of-shit, and she worked hard to forget them. She would have rather lived on the streets.

So for the next year, the two of them grinded and begged on the streets like many others in the city. Her parents never bothered to find them, so she just thought they didn’t care enough. And then, when she was 12, on a rainy day, she was slumped and huddling under a roof with her brother when a man stepped over them.

“Hello. What’s your name?”

That was how she looked up and met the Planner for the first time.

“Eponine. This is my brother, Gavroche.”

“Well, Eponine, you happen to be standing in front of my office building. Would you like to come in and have a meal?”

That was how it all started. The Planner watched Gavroche as she trained hard, alongside Cosette and Grantaire. For the first years of her life in the business, until they turned 18, they lived in a small studio that the Planner paid rent for. They all took turns in and out of missions to watch her brother. Eponine wouldn’t have survived anything if it weren’t for Gavroche motivating her to go to work, Cosette to wipe her tears and wash her body when she couldn’t get out of bed, or Grantaire cooking for all of them as they worked to make ends meet.

She thought of all of this as Enjolras, after letting Courfeyrac speak, began to speak up, standing up and staring at the small crowd.

“It’s no secret that Paris has abandoned hundreds of children on the street. The system has failed them. To our knowledge, 70 children are dead from police brutality. We thought it was because the police were just cruel, but-”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre warned, “we agreed to keep that under wraps.”

The blond man turned to his friend, “I don’t care anymore, Ferre. I can’t believe that the most privileged in the city get to do what they want!” he turned to everyone, “The truth is, these are planned attacks. They’re using this as an opportunity to allow drugs to infiltrate the poorest parts of Paris. That’s why your presence is valued. We need more people to come help us and organize a rally we would have soon.”

Eponine met eyes with Cosette, in a silent language,  _ so this is how we’ll watch over them.  _ An organizing rally? Sounds good to them.

“Enjolras,” Cosette spoke up, “Would it be possible to allow Lisette and Pierre to go to our smaller meetings? I trust the two of them. I met them completely by accident.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked at each other from their table, before the bespectacled man sighed and said, “Well, we do need the manpower. We trust you, Pierre and Lisette.”

Eponine jumped on her words before they failed her, “I promise we’ll do everything to help.”

Marius brightened up considerably, “That’s good. We do need some help. Enjolras, do you think maybe we can put them on logistics?”

“Huh?” The blond man’s eyes were trained on Grantaire again. Eponine made a note to recklessly tease him about it later on, now that they were going to see each other semi-regularly now, “Oh yeah. Logistics. We’ll give you both the info on where the smaller meetings will be after. But as of now, we’ll talk a little more about our other causes.”

+

Cosette had told him and Eponine earlier,  _ we’ll meet at Eponine’s at 10.  _ And Grantaire knew that. He was persistently reminding himself until he had it committed to memory. But he also knew that if he kept looking at Enjolras, he might lose track.

The first thing he saw when he met him was the look of determination. He looked focused that he could do anything, even making himself levitate. Then, quickly, he saw everything else: his sharp blue eyes, the blond curls tied in a loose ponytail, and his stance that commanded an aura. The red blazer adding a pop of color to his power. He was mesmerized. And going by Enjolras’ look, he was mesmerized, too.

So, after the meeting was done, he made a beeline for the man, all the while slowing his steps so he wouldn’t seem desperate. The other man was already expecting him, his eyes raised towards him.

“Hi,” he said once they were face-to-face, “I’m Enjolras.”

“I’m P-Pierre,” he said, correcting himself, “Thank you for holding the session tonight. I learned a lot from you.”

“No problem,” their eyes weren’t breaking their gaze. Somewhere behind them, Grantaire registered a few people in the room staring, “Thank you for coming. I was wondering, um, if we were walking in the same direction, that we could walk together?”

“Yeah, we could.” Perfect part of fitting into the plan, “Where are you headed?”

“I’m headed North.”

“Oh, perfect,” he fumbled. He hadn’t faked an identity in a while. “There’s a metro station nearby.”

The smile Enjolras gives is blinding.

+

In the night, Enjolras is taking in the man almost luminous under the street lights. He tries to spark any conversation, anything.

“So Marianne said you work with Lisette. What do you do in your free time?”

“Uh,” Pierre stutters. It looks cute, “I teach art to kindergarten kids part-time. And I also paint just for myself. I don’t particularly do any gallery work. How about you?”

“That’s interesting. Me, I’m a law student. My second year. I want to do civil rights law.”

Pierre’s tiny smirk is visible under the moonlight, making Enjolras’ heart jump of its own volition, “So you want to change the world, then? That’s optimistic of you.”

He looks up at him, and in a firm voice, says, “Who doesn’t?

And the other man falls silent. 

+

Grantaire takes quick steps towards the metro station after Enjolras goes to his apartment. The rest of their walk had been slightly strained, but still managing to get to know each other just a little bit. Now, he had to hustle a little bit to get to Eponine’s place. Yet, he couldn't get rid of that fiery look out of the blond man’s eyes when he spoke.

_ Who doesn’t? _

_ Not me, _ he thinks, as he buzzes his metro card in. _ Not me. _

But he thinks, at the back of his head,  _ you might be able to convince me though. _

_ I might do just anything for you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my birthday tomorrow, so this is a nice little gift to myself. exr seeing each other for the first time was about as electric as cosette and marius in the musical, u can't change my mind. happy almost friday!

**Author's Note:**

> cosette is 100% the sneaky type. stick around for next week, when she meets the man she's meant to kill, and the group she's supposed to spy on.


End file.
